


Eventually

by tw1g



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tw1g/pseuds/tw1g
Summary: As the Clone Wars drag on, the Jedi Order continues to force newly Knighted Padawans into leadership roles in the Grand Army of the Republic. As more and more Jedi prioritize the war over their ancient duties, individuals must find their place as Jedi and citizens of the Republic. For Ginia, a Knight who wants nothing more than to see the Jedi order as peaceful as it was when she was a youngling, the costs of war seem greater than the victories.
Relationships: Original Clone Character(s) & Original Jedi Character(s), Original Clone Trooper Character(s)/Original Jedi Character(s), Shaak Ti & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1 (Jedi Knight Ginia)

**Author's Note:**

> starting 9/29/20 - will stick to an upload schedule finally !! expect a new chapter every Friday evening, if not before

A new day.

The sun filters in through the small window of my quarters in the eastern wing of the Jedi temple – ah yes, my new quarters. I’d had a fantastic night’s sleep, but now yesterday’s ceremony and the following festivities come flooding back.

As I sit up in my small bed and settle into my morning meditation pose, and as I feel the Force flowing around me like a familiar, comforting friend, I remember how Master Ti fetched me from our quarters yesterday and led me to the Council chambers (I was frustrated she wouldn’t answer my questions about why is the Council summoning me?). I remember the hot crackling buzz of Master Yoda’s lightsaber near my ear as he severed the Padawan braid I had carefully woven each day for years. I remember walking with Master Yoda to the younglings’ quarters where he revealed that it was the council’s wish for me to remain at the temple and help train the children in the mysterious ways of the Force. I remember – no, I regret – Ahsoka sneaking me out of the Temple to celebrate with a drink at 79’s. 

As I settle deeper into my Force meditation and comfortably going through the sacred motions as I used to do every morning with Master Ti, I remember the war. I can’t help but wonder where I, a newly knighted Jedi, belong in the midst of the swirling Light and Dark. I can’t fight – I’m not exaggerating when I say that my lightsaber skills are the worst in the Order. Master Windu can’t look at me without shaking his head. I decide that the Council is correct: my place must be here at the temple, training the next generation of Jedi – no, Jedi warriors. I close my eyes and relax into the comfortable hum of the Force surrounding me.

My chrono beeps suddenly, startling me out of my reverie and back into the present. Kriff, look at the time. I’m already behind schedule, and being late to the creche on my first official day of being a Knight might make the Council rethink their decision. Rolling my eyes, I force myself out of bed and into the ‘fresher. It’s funny; trying to fix my hair afterwards takes a lot less time without a Padawan braid to wind every morning. I throw on my robes – new ones, yet another perk of becoming a knight – and take a look at myself in the mirror. Robes are a little wrinkled, hair’s a little messy, but that never hurt anyone. 

“Stupid Master Windu doesn’t have hair to fix,” I mutter, trying to decide which side my part looks better on. 

“Repeat that, will you, Knight? Hear it, I did not.” 

I freeze. Oh, of all the karking days -

“Ah, Master Yoda! It’s so good to see you at this…early hour,” I say with a nod and a grimace. “What brings you to my quarters?”

“Request your presence, the Council does. Your services, we require,” the old master intones. He looks serious - well, no more serious than he usually does. But from the way Knight Skywalker talks, apparently Master Yoda does crack a joke once in a while.

“Yes master, I’m ready to go now,” I sigh, falling into step a few paces behind the Grandmaster. I may not be a Padawan anymore, but I haven’t lost all my Jedi etiquette.

I haven’t lost all my curiosity, either. I reach out into the Force, searching for some sort of answer from the master in front of me about our early appointment, but find nothing. He’s tightly shielded himself from being detected in the Force. I should do the same, but I’ve always been one to immerse myself in the surrounding Force and let it flow through me. Believe me, Master Ti chastised me for feeling enough times in my days as a Padawan.

Master Yoda senses my poking and prodding in the Force and turns around to look at me. “Killed the Loth-cat, curiosity did. Patience, Knight Ginia.”

As we enter the Council chambers, I sense the expectancy and worry emitted from the assortment of Master Jedi in the room that clouds the Force before I notice their stiff posture and drawn faces. If this involves the war, I want no part, I convince myself. My place is at the Temple, I will not be drawn into –

“Padawan,” begins Master Windu.

“Knight,” Master Ti corrects gently. Yes, go master! I mentally cheer – she always sticks up for me.

Master Windu sighs. “Knight,” he begins again, “as one of the few Jedi that continue to reside in the temple and as one of the even fewer Jedi that demonstrate no interest in helping the war effort-” Okay, that’s a little bit rude, “-we politely ask that you deliver an important message to the Chancellor on behalf of the Jedi council.”

Huh. Doesn’t seem too bad. I’d rather be, you know, doing my duty as a Jedi creche master right now, but I’d imagined much worse than being the Council’s messenger. 

“Yes master, I’m all ears. What message shall I deliver?” 

Master Ti takes over. “Knight Ginia, this is strictly confidential, of course,” Yes, of course, I’m not a loose-lipped monkey-lizard, “but a small alliance of powerful bounty hunters has taken control of the planet of Nal Hutta by holding the leading members of the Five Hutt Families hostage. We strongly suspect that the situation has Separatist backing due to the large blockade currently surrounding the planet.”

“Hold on – masters,” I begin hotly, then pause to regroup. Breathe. “Why are the Hutts important to us now? Why were all Five Hutt Families together? And, most importantly, why are you asking me to deliver this message when I am not a member of the Grand Army of the Republic? I want very little to do with the war effort – surely other Knights can be more useful than I.”

The assembled masters raise eyebrows and shunt copious amounts of irritation into the Force – I can feel it. Oh, I’ve overstepped my boundaries – again.

Master Yoda decides to come to my rescue. “Valuable hyperspace lanes, the Hutts control. Useful to the war efforts, these lanes have been and will be. Useful to the war effort too, you can be, if let go of fear, you will.”

“And the Hutts all in one place? I thought they didn’t get along that well.”  
Master Windu clears his throat. “We believe they were participating in festivities of an unscrupulous and promiscuous manner.”

Ah. I see. Anything to get out of this awkward conversation.

“Yes, masters, I will deliver the message to the Chancellor immediately,” I nod a goodbye and back out of the Council chamber before I get stuck commanding a squadron or charging into battle. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

I let myself breathe normally again once I’m out of the council chambers and race to the hangar to grab a speeder bike. No way am I walking all the way to the Senate building, humble Jedi or not.

As I weave my way through the crowded streets of Coruscant’s Upper Level, I ponder Master Yoda’s statement in the Council chamber. Useful to the war effort, you can be, if let go of fear, you will. Well, I’m definitely scared of the war. How can you not be scared of watching your friends and your soldiers die, especially if their death is your fault? But as the masters say…

“Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. Yeah, yeah, I know,” I mutter as I park my speeder on a hangar near one of the upper levels of the Senate building and walk to the entrance. The wind from the altitude whips my new robes around and I can almost hear Master Ti’s voice in my head: Jedi are not vain.

Yeah, that’s true. I pass a reflective panel on the ornate wall and notice the wind’s completely messed up my hair. Ah well, I think as I walk towards the lift at the end of the hall. The Chancellor doesn’t exactly look like he’s in his prime of his life. No one but me will care if I look bad. The lift doors slide open and –

“Oh!”

“Stang! Sorry about that, general.”

Somehow I’ve ended up sprawled on the lift floor with a faceful of plastoid and a wounded sense of pride. My first day as a Knight, and I’ve ticked off Master Windu and crashed into something – someone – in the Senate Building. Nice.

I get up and watch as the pile of plastoid heaves itself up off the floor and brushes itself off, puts itself back together. Radiating waves of embarrassment in the Force (I’m doing the same, he just can’t sense it), the clone quickly pats himself down to check that nothing went amiss in the crash, and that’s when we both notice it.

“Um,” I say, fighting back a smile, “you should probably deal with that.” His codpiece, knocked off in the collision, rests on the floor between his feet. Poor guy.

“Yes general, at once.” He snaps to a salute and, after a couple of tries (I’ve spent enough time on Kamino to know that armor isn’t easy to move in), he manages to bend down and grab the codpiece. Looking away as he reattaches it seems the proper course of action. The waves of embarrassment? They’ve escalated into a regular tsunami.

“Calm your shebs, trooper,” I brush off the incident with a smile and a wave of my hand. “I’m no general, I just got knighted yesterday, and I’m not actively involved with the war. I’m Jedi Knight Ginia. What’s your name?”

“CT-8160, sir,” he declares with a snap to attention. “Member of the Coruscant Guard.”

“Your name, not your number. Your number isn't what makes you…you.”

He seems taken aback. Had no civvie ever asked for his name before? “Um, Bingo, sir - thank you for asking.”

Bingo. Now that he’s told me, I’m never gonna forget it. My old master is in charge of training the clones, for Force’ sake. I’ve grown up knowing how important names are to the clones. “It’s really nice to meet you, Bingo. Well, um, as a member of the Coruscant Guard, can you get me clearance to see the chancellor? It’s an urgent Jedi matter.”

“Yes, sir, in no time at all. The part that’ll take a long time is getting to his office. Old Palps decided to set up shop on the far end of the building,” Bingo rolls his eyes. I can only imagine he’s made this walk many times before. 

“Well then, let’s get walking. Guns holstered? Codpiece in place?”

“Oh, shut up-” His eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth – well, where his mouth would be if he wasn’t wearing that helmet. His helmet may obscure his face, but I can read him like a book in the Force. He’s scared.

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Do you seriously think I’m going to report you to the Kaminoans for a slip of the tongue? Please, it’s nice to have someone to joke with. Don’t tell anyone, but the Jedi can be so proper sometimes it’s almost unbearable.”

We reach the Chancellor’s office as the Senate’s morning session ends, flooding the vast halls with humans and aliens of all worlds. The vast diversity makes the halls look like a picture-perfect symbol of peace and coexistence, but we Jedi know the truth of the unscrupulous inner workings of the Senate. Frankly, I don’t know why the Council even puts up with – what did Bingo call him? – Palps. Politics almost beat this endless war when it comes to the stupidity factor. 

“Thanks for the escort,” I smile and close my eyes to center myself. “Deep breaths, Ginia, you can do this…”

“Yeah, you can, sir,” he says, and I can almost sense the smile under his helmet. “I’ll be waiting outside, if you want an escort back to the hangar. These Senators are a dangerous lot,” he adds – I can’t see the grin on his face, but I can sense his happiness, and it raises my spirits a little bit.

I take a deep breath, try to grasp at some confidence from the Force surrounding me, and walk into the Chancellor’s office.  
I swear his eyes glint gold when I deliver the unfortunate news of the Hutt Council’s capture.


	2. Chapter 2 (CT-8160, Bingo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Bingo Regrets Not Learning Social Skills On Kamino

The karking codpiece. Of all the parts of armor that could have popped off, it had to be my codpiece. And of any one of my brothers, it had to be me that bumped into – literally bumped into – a Jedi. Funnily enough, Jedi that legitimately cares about who I am.

Back on Kamino, the longnecks had taught us about the Jedi, who were apparently going to lead us into battle one day. They’d called the Jedi…what was it? ‘Above you,’ ‘aloof,’ ‘unlikely to be interested in the likes of you.’ As a teenager, that kind of talk hurts.

All that talk on Kamino, and here I was, walking beside a Jedi who had asked me my name. And joked with me! And talked with me – a lot.

“How long have you been planetside? Coruscant’s been my home as long as I can remember. Well, most of the parts of my life that I can remember. Can you remember being a kid? Well, I guess you are still kind of a kid, no offense. Hey! My old master was General Shaak Ti. You know her, right? I went to Kamino sometimes with her. Maybe we’ve met before!”  
I’m trying my hardest to get a word in but Force, it’s difficult. “I don’t think I’ve met you before, sir - Ginia. I would remember someone who talks this much.” I look sideways to try to catch her eye, but this stupid tin can blocks eye contact. Thanks, Lama Su. 

“Oh sorry, I just don’t usually get to talk this much,” she says with a glance right at my bucket. “I love the Order, but most Jedi are all general this’ and ‘saber drills that.’ Always too busy to really invest in people.” Force help me, how did I get saddled with such an unusual Jedi?

“Anyway,” she continues as we pass back through the fancy Senate halls on our way to the hangar she landed on, “how did you get the name Bingo? I’ve spent enough time on Kamino to know that y’all take naming very seriously.” She looks at my bucket again, and listen - I’ve never met a Jedi before, and this one isn’t very scary, but the way she seems to look through me creeps me out a little bit.

“Y’all?” I scoff. Yes, I grew up with over a million brothers that are a perfect copy of myself, but I’m pretty sure no one talks like that. “Never mind me, where are you from? Who in the galaxy talks like that?”

“General Skywalker says it!”  
“General Skywalker’s from Tatooine!”  
“And…?”

“Everyone knows his neck is as red as my armor, di’kut.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Now tell me about your name.” She looks a little embarrassed and kicks at a service droid waddling down the hall. Okay, Jedi get to do that, but when I do it, Foxy gives me a lecture on propriety. I see how it is.

I bring my hand up to my bucket and automatically trace the ring of red paint around the right side of my viewer. “The longnecks said that my pigmentation was defective. I don’t know why anyone would care about that, but I was scheduled to be terminated. Your old master argued with them on my behalf, and, well, here I am today. A humble Senate guard, unfit for duty on the front lines.”

“Yes! My master is the best. But, um, sorry you were gonna die.”

“Ah, it’s nothing new. Defective clones are terminated all the time.”  
“You don’t act defective. And, well, you’re all covered up, but you don’t look defective. And please, call it dying. Terminated makes it seem less human, and you’re no less human than me.”

Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. I drop my rifle and grab my helmet with both hands, pulling it off in one practiced motion. This is the time when she’s appalled by my appearance, and we part ways never to meet again.

But she doesn’t do anything but look. Slowly, she reaches out a hand to trace the mottled discolored patterns on my cheeks and around my right eye. She closes her eyes and concentrates, and I feel a blanket of calm surround me. Can she tell I was nervous? Yes, I sigh. Of course. She’s a Jedi.

We make our way out onto the hangar, my bucket under my arm and her carrying my rifle that I dropped like a clumsy cadet in the Senate halls. Can I get any dumber?

“The Kaminoans are idiots for trying to kill you!” She says something, but I can’t hear her over the constant rush of Coruscanti traffic.

“What?”  
“I said, the Kaminoans are idiots!” she yells.

Oh, that’s a nice thing to say. Unnecessary, and a bit mushy, but nice. 

“Can I have your comm code?” she tries to talk again, but she also tries to get the message across with some clumsy sign language.

Does she want my comm code? I mean, it’s GAR monitored, but sure, she can have it. I take my bucket out from under my arm and drop it on her head – it’s a bit big. She staggers around, clearly unused to wearing such a clunky thing, and now it’s her turn to drop my rifle. The clang on the durasteel floor of the hanger makes me wince. 

“What the kriff do I do with this?” she finally gets out, and I remember how long it took for me to learn how to talk properly into the blasted thing. If I’m gonna talk back, though, I’m gonna have to get real up close and personal with that audio receiver to be heard over the traffic din. I roll my eyes and lean in to talk into the side of my bucket.

“Put your comm code in. The system’ll save it and I can call you later.”  
“Put my comm code in where?”

“Use your eyes to flick through the display. There’s a notes program in there somewhere.”

“Wait – you all have to peer through all this mess when you fight? This display is a disaster!”

“Just find the program and hurry up! I gotta get my bucket back over my ugly mug.”

“No you don’t, your face is fine. And yes, I’m hurrying.”

Did – did she just call me fine? No, I heard that wrong. Karking speeder traffic, messing with my ears. She takes off the bucket and hands it back to me, tracing the red ring around my viewer with her thumbs as she does. If I wasn’t such a failure of a clone, I’d think it was a symbol of her total acceptance of my…disfigurement. 

“I have taken way too much time delivering this message to – what did you call him? - Old Palps, but it was worth it to meet you - even if the Council is gonna have my head when I get back. I’m free every night, comm me anytime!”

She hops on her bike and is gone with a flash. Force, waiting for the work day to end is gonna take forever.

Finally, after five games of sabaac with Thorn outside of the Chancellor’s office, the evening session of the Senate lets out. The rich and influential traipse down the halls and into their quarters to enjoy an evening of luxury. Me? I grab dinner from the clone cafeteria, dodge a lecture on running in the halls from Fox, and run through the halls to my broken elevator; as a member of the Coruscant Guard, I have the best accomodations. As I run – no, I’m speed-walking - it occurs to me that I’ve never commed anyone besides a vod as a friend before.

I own one pair of clothes, and I still fret over what to wear. The blacks on top, plastoid (and that karking codpiece) on bottom will have to do. She’s never going to let me live that moment down, I can already tell. I grab my comm unit from under the cot and slip on my helmet to look up her comm code. This is it, Bingo. I punch in the frequency and wait for her to answer.

She answers in a second (those Jedi reflexes, I guess) and a fuzzy blue holograph appears in my elevator-room, brightening the dull space. She smiles at my call, and then furrows her brow.

“Take off that tin can, I want to see your face.”  
I roll my eyes – I’ve never rolled my eyes so many times in one day. “Yes sir - Ginia.”

“And tell me how you got your name, you never finished the story.”

I absentmindedly outline the patchy patterns on my face with my hand, tracing the ring around my eye with a finger. “Well, I’ve got this ring around my eye here. That’s where the name came from.”  
“Your name is Bingo, not Ringo, di’kut.”

“Well, there was already a Ringo that had been incubated a couple months beforehand, so obviously I couldn’t be named Ringo. My batchmates decided to call me Bingo instead – ‘it’s close enough’.”

There’s a pause on her end of the call, and I wonder if our connection is patchy, until she starts laughing, laughing until she’s crying.

“Are you-” she pauses to wipe her eyes “-are you serious? That’s literally the dumbest story I’ve ever heard!”

“Yes, I’m serious, and yes, it’s dumb. But enough about me, tell me about yourself.”

And she does. And surprisingly, I join the conversation instead of sitting in silence on the other end of the comm call. 

We talk about our childhoods – both of them were pretty terrible. Surprisingly, being artificially created or being kidnapped to join a space cult doesn’t lead to a happy childhood. Go figure.

About the war. 

About things that make us laugh and things that fill us to the brim with emotion until we feel like we can’t take anymore.

We talk about our duties to the Republic, and I hear so much about the Jedi younglings – not cadets, younglings – in her care. She’s always claiming that she doesn’t feel any sort of attachment to the younglings, but it’s obvious she would do anything for them. 

We tell each other the little bits and pieces of scandalous workplace gossip that we can pick up from the Temple and the Senate building – we’ve managed to put our heads together and figure out that there’s something between General Skywalker and Senator Amidala.

We carry on like this every night for almost a week: swapping stories, sharing good times and gossip, learning more and more about each other, becoming what I think we would both call…best friends.

A week after our nightly calls begin, I punch in her comm code at our arranged time and blurt out the news that I learned eavesdropping today - it’s a doozy. Apparently, the Chancellor is directly ordering the Jedi council to send out a strike force to solve the crisis on Nal Hutta. The catch? No capable Jedi Master can be planetside for at least another two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: everyone's favorite (at least my favorite Jedi) SHAAK TI
> 
> I'm having so much fun telling this story, even if it is a pain to get it out of my head and onto a Google Doc - bear with me, I promise plot is coming soon
> 
> why is plot so hard to write :0


	3. Chapter 3 (Jedi Master Shaak Ti)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Shaak Ti Is Tired Of A Wrinkly Frog And A Man With Too Much Forehead Meddling In Her Affairs

The cool Coruscanti sunlight streams in my window in a valiant effort to wake me up, but I’ve been up for hours now, meditating and centering myself before my day begins. The sunlight reminds me, however, of my old Padawan. She always used to sleep later than I did, and the sun that woke her mirrored her sunny disposition. I miss feeling her bright Force presence in the mornings, but she seems so happy as a Knight. Teaching and training the young ones is an excellent assignment for her. 

The kettle whistles, and the tinny sound travels from my small kitchen into my bedroom, interrupting my morning meditation. As I get up to go manage it, my comm unit beeps with an incoming call from Master Yoda. I accept the call, and the fuzzy blue projection of the Grandmaster appears in the palm of my hand. 

“Master Ti, good to see you, it is.”

“The same for you, Master Yoda,” I reply with a nod of my head. “What prompts this early-morning call?”

“Received urgent news from the Chancellor, we have. Discuss this development among the council, we must.”

“Master, I’m due back at Kamino before oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning – I must leave soon if I am to be back by then. I’m sorry, but I will not be able to attend this Council meeting.” I’m a little regretful, but truthfully, I’d rather be in the calm of hyperspace than in the Council Chamber. 

“Already postpone your departure, I have. Attend this Council meeting, you must. Convene in the Chamber in five clicks, we shall,” Master Yoda intones gravely and exits the call.

Walking through the gardens will take me longer to reach the Council Chambers, but it’s worth the detour. It’s an early hour yet, but my Ginia is already out meditating with her little horde of younglings. I smile as a little Nautolan peeks out from under his eyelids, and the Ithorian next to him slaps his hand in mock chastisement. I’m so glad to see her happy and settling into her new role as a crechemaster; the war has certainly taken a toll on her, and I hope she’s never coerced into leading troops into battle.

Unsurprisingly, I’m the last Council member to arrive, but it appears that I just missed a few formalities. Master Yoda acknowledges my arrival and immediately begins briefing us on the Chancellor’s “urgent news.” 

“Concern with the Jedi Council’s lack of action regarding the invasion of Nal Hutta, the Chancellor feels. Frustrated with the Council, he is.”

“And what actions does he feel we should take? More importantly, why does he feel he can meddle in the inner workings of the Jedi Order?” Master Tiin asks with concern. It’s a valid question, one that I myself was wondering.

“Request that a strike team of Jedi and clones be formed to retake Nal Hutta, the Chancellor does. Sure that a small team can infiltrate the Separatist defenses and easily defeat the bounty hunters, the Chancellor is.”

Master Windu sighs. “And I presume that he has recommended Skywalker for this mission?”

“No, quite unusual, it is,” Master Yoda admits. “Requests Obi-Wan, the Chancellor does.”

The flickery blue image of Obi-Wan stroked his beard; everyone in the chamber knew not to disturb his thinking. “I wonder why he wants to assign this mission to me – it’s very curious. Normally I would accept, but as you well know, I continue to siege the Outer Rim. I’m sorry, Masters, but I’m currently unavailable.”

The room fell silent as the Council stayed deep in thought, drawing advice and answers from the mysteries of the surrounding Force. So few Jedi, and so many fronts to wage war on…

“What about Knight Secura? Surely, she is available?” Windu inquires. 

“We lost contact with them in the Outer Rim sector last night,” Kit Fisto adds his two credits. “Luminara? Plo? Are you both busy?”

They both nod, and I know we are all feeling the pressure this war has placed on us since that first battle of Geonosis. “I’m sorry, Masters,” I chime in, “but I’m due to visit Kamino again tomorrow morning. I’m unavailable for the next sixty rotations or so.”

Yoda sighs. “Deployed, all our best Jedi Knights and Masters are. Left on Coruscant, almost no one is.”

Ki-Adi’s eyes light up. “Well, gentlemen – and Shaak Ti – and ‘Nara – there is one person left on Coruscant who is available to acquiesce to the Chancellor’s request…”

Mace scoffs. “Who? Master Yoda? Me? Madame Jocasta? It’s a nice thought, but everyone on Coruscant is busy.”

“No, not the three of you. You all have an important role here, making sure the Order runs smoothly. The person I’m thinking of, they were knighted quite recently.”

He looks at me. 

“Shaak Ti, surely your ex-Padawan is available? Her duties are trivial.”

No. Absolutely not.

I half-rise out of my chair, ready to argue on my Ginia’s benefit – and I’m surprised to see Plo and Kit mirror my movements. Well, it seems that I won’t be the only one discouraging this course of action.

“Masters, please,” I begin, “there is no way she will agree to give up her current duties to go to Nal Hutta. She’s so good at teaching the children, and it brings both parties so much joy.”

“I agree,” Plo rumbles from behind his mask. “She’s one of the few Jedi left, I might add, that still truly honors the peacekeeping way of life. She must do her duty, but I believe that her duty is to the younglings, not to warmongering.”

“She’s an absolute joy to be around,” Kit adds with his big smile. “She has such a bright spirit, such a joyous presence in the Force. War wouldn’t be good for her.”

I look right at Mace. “War hasn’t been good for her. Seeing all the knights her age go away to fight, traveling to Kamino with me to see innocent men being bred for war – Force, even training younglings that will grow up to be soldiers one day! This costly war doesn’t sit well with her. We believe her duty is here at the Temple.”

Kit and Plo nod in approval, but many of the other masters radiate unease through their flickery blue holograms. 

Obi-Wan looks around, waiting to see if anyone will bite the bullet and say what’s on everyone’s mind. “And, if I might add, I have worked with Ginia before on lightsaber forms and drills. We all know her technique is well behind many of the other Knights her age.”

Master Yoda rubs the top of his Gimer stick and looks pensive. “All good concerns, these are. However, correct Master Mundi is. The only available Jedi, Ginia is.”

“It’s only a small group of bounty hunters, how dangerous can the mission be?” Mace adds with a furrow of his brow. “She’ll have a team of clones with her as well, in case her saber forms have somehow gotten worse and the mission falls to pieces.”

I’ve been doing, I think, a phenomenal job of releasing my irritation into the Force, but it must still show on my face because Kit leans over and pats my arm. Patting my arm won’t save my old Padawan from a mission that I know she won’t be happy with. Plo looks at me sympathetically. 

“And the blockade?” I direct this question at Mace, adding all the bite I can into my voice. “A Separatist presence around the planet will be difficult to penetrate, and with a Separatist blockade comes a Separatist leader. There is a strong probability that Count Dooku or his assassin could be planetside.”

“Ginia’s been trained in piloting, but in case she’s fallen behind the other Knights in that area too, we’ll make sure a pilot is included in her strike team,” Mace counters.

Her strike team. This is not the kind of Jedi I trained my Padawan to be. 

“Very well, then. Settled it is,” Master Yoda says solemnly. “Take over the training of Ginia’s younglings, I will. Report to Nal Hutta by next rotation, the strike team will.”

“Please, masters, I beg you to reconsider. If nothing else, remember she is not as proficient in the skills needed for this mission as other Knights or Masters. This might be a mistake,” I make one last stand, bolstered by my desire to honor Ginia’s devotion to the pacifist Jedi ways. 

Mace shakes his head. “She is our only hope, and as such, she will do her duty to the Jedi Order and to the Grand Army of the Republic. Obi-Wan, as Grand General, are there any formalities that need to occur before Ginia assumes command of a squadron?”

Obi-Wan nods his head, but he looks weary, and I know he too is upset with the Council’s decision. “Anakin and I’s siege is going somewhat decently, so I can probably spare to send him back to Coruscant for a day to deal with the military formalities. Expect him by the day’s end.” His hologram leans down and exits the call.

Kit catches my eye from across the room and nods subtly at Plo. Force, he’s got a couple tears falling down from behind his mask. I agree, it’s a poor decision, but it’s a final decision. Ginia would be remiss to disobey a direct order from the Jedi Council and the Chancellor. I fold my hands into the wide sleeves of my robe, and us three rebels exit the Council chambers together. 

Kit shakes his head. “Every day, this war tears us apart from the inside out more and more.”

“I can’t believe” -sniff- “can’t believe that Ginia is” -sniff- “is going to command a squadron,” Plo adds, wiping his eyes on his robe. I’ll comm him later to remind him to wash it. “Do you think that they’ll be great soldiers?”

“Oh, come on, Plo,” Kit smirks, “Our lady Shaak Ti trained them! Of course they’re great soldiers. More importantly, I’m sure they’re great men.”

I sigh. “Oh, you flatter me. Force knows that there are a few bad meilooruns among the thousands that I train. But good day to you gentlemen,” I smile at them both. “I must go inform Ginia of the Council’s decision. Thank you both for assisting me in the debate today.”

“Oh, I’ll side with anyone who debates with integrity and conviction,” Plo assures me, and his face is noticeably dryer. “Thank you for training such a special Knight.”

We bow and part ways, but not before I catch a fleeting glimpse of their feelings in the Force. They don’t envy me this task. Ah well, all in a day’s work. I should go put this morning’s water on to boil and ask my newly-christened Knight if she’ll join me for a chat over a cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: back to GINIA !! I think I'm gonna keep up the pattern of Ginia, Bingo, ~someone else~ for a while
> 
> also, AO3 will not italicize ?? this is quite a tragic day indeed


	4. Chapter 4 (Jedi Knight Ginia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Ginia Thumbs Her Nose At The Order And Shaak Ti Is An Exasperated Mom

I have literally never been more upset in my life.

No. No, no, NO!

When Master Ti invited me back to her quarters for tea after I finished my work in the creche for the day, I expected to settle in with a hot cup of our favorite blend of herbal tea and reminisce over my first week as a knight with my beloved Master. I expected to make small talk about Kamino and youngling training and the dreaded saber drills Master Kenobi says I should practice every day. Everything was going to be perfect.

Surprisingly, everything wasn’t.

So here I am, 12 hours later, sitting grumpily in a speeder with Master Ti and Master Yoda on our way to the Grand Army of the Republic airbase. As a Padawan, I toured this airbase with my crechemates, and I remember thinking all this money spent on war, but there’s a ‘lack of funds’ in the Senate for helping people, building people up? I’ve always been of the opinion that as a Jedi, my role should be helping people by working to end slavery or doing humanitarian work. Yet here I am, on my way to the GAR airbase to be put in charge of a stupid strike team going to rescue stupid Nal Hutta from some stupid bounty hunters. Hopefully our ship looks cool.

The speeder stops abruptly, and Master Yoda would almost fall out the front if Master Ti didn’t catch him by the end of his Gimer stick. Stupid Gimer stick. I can almost hear Master Ti’s advice in my head: Shield your emotions, young one, and release the negative emotions into the force. I need to let go of the fear and anger, or I might feel that Gimer stick across my shins. 

“Ginia!”

I look across the airfield and spot a little orange figure waving her arms and running towards me. Last time I saw that person, I was stopping her from ordering alcohol.

“Ahsoka! I’m glad to see you.”

“You’re now officially a part of the GAR! Isn’t that exciting!” She’s practically bouncing up and down. “I wonder if we can go on missions together, now that you’re a Knight!”

“Yes. Very exciting,” I remark dryly. “Ahsoka, you know how I feel about this war - I just want to get this mission over with. Where’s my strike team? Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually kind of looking forward to meeting them.”

Ahsoka smiles at me and points over by the hull of a Venator-class star destroyer. “They’re over there waiting for you. You’re late,” she teases.

I shove her arm at her bad joke. “Sorry, Master Yoda was moving slower than usual.”

The two of us, trailed by the two Masters, walk across the airfield to where Ahsoka pointed. As we approach the huge starship, I can make out five sets of plastoid armor winking in the sun, and one figure in black robes leaning against the landing mechanism of the ship.

“Oh,” Ahsoka adds, “Anakin showed up this morning. He’s in charge of getting you ready for your first mission!”

He’s looking the other way, but he must sense us coming up behind him because he turns around and faces us with a smile on his face. “Master Yoda, Master Ti,” Anakin acknowledges respectfully. “Snips, Ginia,” he smiles at both of us. Ahsoka says that he’s a great Master, but he seems a bit too reckless for me. A bit too fond of this war. 

“Ginia, good to see you again. And congratulations on your official status as a General in the Grand Army of the Republic – that’s an honor only Jedi get to carry.”

I raise my eyebrows and look at Ahsoka sideways. “Ahsoka, has your master lost his mind? I’m just leading a strike team, for Force’s sake. I’m no general!”

Ahsoka hems and haws. “Yeah, well, about that…”

“Yeah, um,” Anakin adds to Ahsoka’s confused noises and doesn’t meet my eye, “Obi-Wan, who knows the reg manual back and forth, is pretty sure that Jedi can only lead squadrons of clones during wartime if they have the rank of General. So, um, congratulations – again. I’ve been dispatched to tell you the good news because-”

“Generals get star destroyers!” Ahsoka jumps in. 

I look at them both.

They both don’t look at me.

Master Ti and Master Yoda look at each other and sigh.

“I...I think you misunderstand me,” I begin. “I don’t want to be a general. I certainly don’t want a whole star destroyer. There’re only five men in my squadron!”

“Obi-Wan dispatched me to deal with the military formalities, so just deal with all of it. Who doesn’t want a ship?” Anakin sounds a little bit annoyed. “There’s a clone crew onboard right now that’s trained to fly the ship, so don’t worry - you and your strike team can be fully focused on recovering Nal Hutta.”

“It’s called the Redeemer!” Ahsoka chimes in. “Top-of-the-line, upgraded hyperdrive, big guns, the whole nine klicks. It’s really a great ship, Ginia – maybe the flagship of your soon-to-be fleet…”

“Ahsoka, I don’t want a fleet, but fine, I’ll take the ship.” Nothing like a big Venator class star destroyer to perfectly execute a stealth mission. “What about my team? Can I meet them, or is the ship more important?”

I feel a shift in the Force around me, and I realize that it’s Master Ti pushing a gentle reminder my way. I understand that this is out of your comfort zone – you think? – but please try to cooperate. I missed always feeling Master Ti nearby in the Force, but that doesn’t mean I want her to use the Force to scold me. Oh well, she’s making a good point. I need to suck it up and trust in the Force. 

On Anakin’s signal, the five clones march over and snap to attention in front of us. I recognize two of the clones’ armor as the distinctive 501st blue of Anakin’s soldiers, and I think that the clone with the yellow armor comes from Master Kenobi’s 212th battalion. I don’t recognize the purple armor, but the red armor seems familiar…

“Bin– I mean, CT-8160!” My jaw drops in recognition as the sun’s glare passes over the distinctive paint markings on his helmet. “It’s, um, nice to see you again, trooper. Last time I spoke to you, you were guarding the Chancellor’s office.” I hope the inflection in my voice gets the message across.

“Yes, last time I spoke to you, General, you were delivering a message to His Excellency the Chancellor. Good to see you again, sir.” Thank Dooku, he understood.

I suppose it could be worse – at least I’ll have a familiar face to work with as I complete this Force-forsaken mission. Getting to know the other men will be a pleasure, too, if I can find them on this stupidly big starship. 

Anakin smiles at the six of us. “Obi-Wan and I have transferred three men from our command to yours. You won’t find finer troopers or finer men anywhere.”

“Transferred a pilot from his battalion, Master Windu has,” Master Yoda adds. Kriff, I forgot he was here. “And volunteered for this mission, CT-8160 has. Most curious, it is.”

“We’ve met before,” I acknowledge. “Bingo is a fine soldier, and I’m glad to have him.”

Ahsoka turns to grin at me. “Well, here you go, General Ginia. You should leave now if you want to reach Nal Hutta by tomorrow morning.”  
I roll my eyes. “Fine, we’ll get going. Ahsoka, will you, um, be available to comm today?”

“Yes, why?”

“Tell you later, when I, you know, comm you.”

I turn away from Ahsoka and back towards my men – that phrase still sounds so strange in my head. Remember your training, young one. Master Ti pushes a gentle reminder to me through the Force, and I reciprocate with Master, I’ve had little to no training in how to fight a war. These men’s lives are in my hands, and I’m going to blow it. I see my master pause for a minute out of the corner of my eye, and then I feel, I believe in you, young one, and so does the Council. Why else would they have assigned you this mission? Go, lead your men to victory.

I smile at my men, and I can’t see their smiles in return, but I can sense eagerness and excitement surrounding them. It makes me feel a little bit better about the upcoming mission. “Well, boys, I guess we better get on board our ship. Nal Hutta isn’t going to save itself.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” they chorus and yes, I’m still aware that I am the wrong person for this mission, but I’m surrounded by great troopers – great men. I turn away from the troopers and Ahsoka in front of me to look back at Master Yoda and Master Ti. I hesitate for a moment, then run back to my master and hug her as tight as I can. Hey, it’s unconventional – okay, it’s unheard of – but in case I don’t come back, in case I never see her again, she has to know how much she means to me. 

She stiffens in surprise but wraps her arms around me, and as I look over her shoulder, Master Yoda’s eyebrows fly up his head. I can’t help it – I stick my tongue out at him. Take that, Jedi Council. I hope I come back just to make your debates more interesting. 

I let go of my master and smile at her, then jog back over to my new team. Maybe, just maybe, this mission will go well. 

“Bye, you all! I’ll see you all soon,” I say with forced conviction. Anakin mock salutes, and Ahsoka waves an exaggerated farewell with both hands. Master Ti just smiles, and Master Yoda looks pensive as ever. “Come on boys, let’s go. We’ve got a planet to retake,” I remind them, and the six of us turn to walk up the boarding ramp of the Redeemer. 

“Wait!” Anakin must have remembered something important because he’s running up the boarding ramp after us. “The Chancellor dispatched Padme and one other Senator to work out negotiations with the Separatists once you’ve reclaimed Nal Hutta. You can rendezvous with them in Nal Hutta’s orbit.”

Bingo turns to look at me, and I know what he’s thinking. “Padme?” I ask intently, stroking my chin like Master Kenobi.

“Yes, Padme. What’s wrong?” Anakin seems confused. Ahsoka nervously coughs.

Bingo steps forward with a salute. “I’m sorry sir, are you referring to the esteemed Senator and former Queen of Naboo Padme Amidala?” I bite my cheek to hide a smile and look out of the corner of my eye to see him perfectly playing along with my game. I wish I could see if he’s looking back.

Anakin turns red. “Yes, I am referring to the Senator – she’ll meet you there. Now get going, y’all,” and Bingo elbows me in the side as Anakin turns to walk away. Yes, his neck is red – and now I’m even more sure there’s something between those two. 

My team’s creaking plastoid armor is the only sound as we walk in formation down the startlingly empty halls of our new star destroyer. In the ghostly echoing corridors, all my previous misgivings about fighting in the war come back. I’m terrified at the thought of being responsible for these men’s lives, and I know that they’re counting on me. If only I felt confident enough – or skilled enough in combat – to count on myself.

“Um, General, sir,” Bingo grabs my shoulder, and I know he can feel me shaking. “Ah, the bridge is that way.” He points back behind us.

What a fantastic start to my first day – no, my first five minutes – as a general. “Yes, of course, trooper. Please, lead the way.” Bingo and the other four clones take the lead, and I trail behind them, looking around at the ship’s bare halls and trying to get a sense for my surroundings. If I get lost in my own ship, I’m going to burst into tears, no questions asked.

The blast doors to the bridge hiss open in front of us, and twenty-ish clones in gray uniforms snap to attention. Bingo enters the bridge first. “Commanding officer on deck, men!” The other four clones of my strike team file into the room and salute smartly as I walk through the door and stand in the middle of the room. Looking out at all these lives, all these innocent lives, the adrenaline wears off and I realize…I can’t do this. Who thought I could lead a war mission, anyway?   
Oh right, the men are still saluting. 

“At ease, men,” I manage to get out. Kark, my throat’s swelling. This isn’t good. “Um, my official title is General Ginia of the Grand Army of the Republic, but I don’t care if you call me Ginia. I sort of, um,” my voice trails off, “um, want nothing to do with this war.”

I see all my men look around at each other in confusion. So much for an encouraging and positive pep talk before our first mission together. 

“But!” I add with an enthusiastic gesture (let’s try this one more time), “but, I am so excited to meet you all and fight alongside you all. Well, I guess I’ve only met one of you, officially, but I can’t wait to talk to each and every one of you. But for now, we have a mission to begin. Can we please get in the air?” I try to sound very stately and official, but it’s not working – my voice keeps cracking and I have got to get out of here. “I’ll see you all later - I have a comm call to make.”

The troopers in gray hurry back to their assigned posts at the bridge’s banks and banks of computers, and I hurriedly exit the room before I start to cry. I’ve already almost gotten lost in my own ship and made them stand at attention for forever – I won’t let them see me cry, too. As I rush out the door, one of the men in blue armor comes after me. Bingo tries to grab his arm, but he’s too slow, and the trooper grabs my shoulder as I walk by them. 

“General – sir – what should we – the five of us – do during the trip to Nal Hutta?” I can’t read his face behind his helmet, but I sense he’s worried – for me or for the mission?

“That’s a good question,” I sigh. “Come on, you five, let’s go find the bunkroom on this hunk of metal. We’ll need some rest.” The five of them fall into line behind me and we leave the bridge the same way we came in. I’m recognizing a few of the doors I saw as we made our way to the bridge, but I have no idea how to get to the bunkroom. “Can you all take the lead? Little secret between us, but I’ve never been on a star destroyer before. It’s a little overwhelming to have one handed to me on a platter.”

“Sure thing, General,” Bingo replies easily, and once again, the five of them lead me around my own ship. I’ll learn my way around one of these days.

“So, if I’m supposed to lead you all on a mission to retake a planet, I guess I’ll need t-” The roaring of the rear thrusters and the sudden slant of the floor makes me lose my balance and fall headfirst into poor Purple Trooper. “Well, I guess we’re airborne now. So, um, I guess I’ll need to get to know you all! Because I’m leading you on a mission…”

“Well, sir, you know me,” Bingo jumps in to spare me some embarrassment. “CT-8160, Bingo, formerly on the Coruscant Guard. Pleasure to serve with you all.”

“Not y’all?” I smile weakly. “All right, you two - Skywalker’s menaces – you’re next.”

The trooper who stopped me before I left the bridge snaps to attention. “CT-2846, Bookish, reporting for duty, General!” 

I roll my eyes. “Calm your shebs, Bookish, regs and all that don’t matter here. How’d you get your name?”

“I swear he knows the reg manuals backwards and forwards and clings to orders like they’re a lifeline, sir,” says the other man in blue armor snidely. “CT-2373, Salt, reporting for duty.”

“Well, I can see how you got your name,” I try to share a look with Bingo (stupid tin cans) and then look back at the trooper in purple. “Um, you? That I fell into earlier? How about you?”

Bookish pulls off his helmet and smiles broadly. “Actually, he got his name fro-” 

“Cut it out!” Salt interrupts.

Yeah, that’s a story that I’m going to have to drag out of Bookish later. Maybe over a drink at 79’s – that gets ‘em every time. 

“CT-3498, Diamond, reporting for duty,” the trooper in purple says after Bookish and Salt finally stop arguing. “General Windu says that my skills only get finer under pressure, sir.”

Master Windu?! gave me?! one of his finest pilots?! What an interesting development. “Nice to meet you, Diamond. I’m glad to have you on this mission – I’m a decent pilot, but I’m sure I don’t have your skills. What about you, yellow? You’re one of Master Kenobi’s, right?”

The trooper in yellow nods timidly. His armor is nowhere near as battle-worn as the other troopers; we’ve got a shiny on our hands. “My name’s Ben, sir, CT-9473. Glad to meet you, sir.”

“…Ben?” I ask, wondering if I heard him right. The other troopers exchange looks of confusion from behind their buckets. “What an…unusual name for a clone. What’s its story?”

“Well, sir, you see, I came out of Kamino without a name, and when I got assigned to the 212th, General Kenobi was surprised to hear that I didn’t have a name, so he gave me one.”

Bookish looks confused. “He gave you…a name? That’s completely unheard of – there’s no precedent for that!”

Ben nods seriously. “He said that Ben is a very practical and serviceable name.”

Master Kenobi would say something like that. “Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Ben – it’s nice to meet all of you. Oh – are we at the bunkroom?” I ask as the five troopers stop outside of another set of blast doors. Blast! – get it? – there are too many doors to keep track of on this ship. 

“Yes sir, this is where we’ll sleep. Um, Jedi quarters are down the hall, if you want to go to your room,” Bingo says. It’s a nice gesture, but I have things I need to. 

“Yes, I have a call to make, and I should probably get some training in,” I respond with some regret. I’d love to get to know my team better, but truthfully, I have more important things to do. 

Ben’s jaw drops. “Lightsaber training? That’s so wizard! Can we watch?”

“Are you crazy?” Salt scoffs, and Bookish adds, “It’s against regs to disturb the Jedi for non-emergencies during break hours!”

“No, you can’t watch,” I respond with a wave of my hand. “Um, I just need to practice by myself for a little while. Get some rest, troopers. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” The five of them snap to salute and then file into the bunkroom. I hope they sleep well, because I’m almost shaking with nerves. At least one of us needs to be calm tomorrow, and it won’t be me.

I walk down the hall to find my new quarters, and they’re so lonely – I haven’t slept very well since I was moved out of Master Ti’s quarters. It’s always been hard for me to sleep without someone I know nearby. Empty and dismal as the room is, it’s the perfect place for the comm call that I've got to make. She picks up on the first ring. 

“Hey, Ahsoka, um, it’s me.”

“Ginia! So good to see you. What do you need?”

“Tell me everything you know about how to complete a successful mission, please. I’m so hopelessly lost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: Bingo, again. you guessed it. and it's a long one. begin preparations now (and make sure that codpiece is fastened in place)
> 
> and once again, the lack of italics is not my friend


	5. Chapter 5 (CT-8160, Bingo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Senator Amidala Is The Only Person With Their Head On Straight And Everyone Is Tired Of Jar Jar (including me)

I’m going to be sick.

It occurs to me on the ride past the separatist blockade down to Nal Hutta that the first time I ride a gunship should not be on a mission to a swamp planet with a bunch of wind. What did Bookish call it? – oh, right, atmospheric disturbances. That’s a nice way of putting it. 

I glance over at the rest of our small crew to see how they’re doing on such a bumpy ride, and Force, do I get varied results. Bookish and Salt are barely holding on to the overhead handles like they’ve done this a million times before which, knowing General Skywalker’s reputation, they probably have. Show-offs. Ben looks a little more unsure, but at least he’s ridden a gunship before. Even a kriffing shiny’s one-upped me. And Diamond, well, I can’t see Diamond, but we’re airborne so I’m gonna guess he’s doing okay.

I look over at the general and get a whole lot more worried. She’s really nice, and a fantastic friend, but I don’t know who decided to let her lead a mission. If the Jedi Council made this decision, then they’re a whole lot more incompetent than I thought. I practically had to carry her into a bunk last night – she spent the whole night stressing about her saber forms and sparring technique, and I found her at oh-three-hundred this morning in the training room, running drill after drill. Telling her that her technique doesn’t look that bad only made her cry harder, but what I don’t tell her is that I saw some vode on the command track back on Kamino spar better than she does. My first mission with a Jedi, and I got stuck with my best friend who is, to be nice, completely incompetent. It’s an interesting dynamic.

Speaking of completely incompetent, we’ve somehow got saddled with two senators that are traveling down to the planet’s surface with us – Esteemed Senator of Naboo Padme Amidala herself and this bumbling di’kut Jar Jar Binks. Apparently, he’s a Senator too, but I’ve never seen him in the Senate Chambers. It doesn’t take much guessing to figure out why.

“Meesa never been on deesa ship before’n!” Jar Jar proclaims, and I am so sure that everyone in the vicinity who has a bucket over their face is rolling their eyes and cursing their luck. 

[Comm Channel created: Strike Squadron #403]

[CT-2373 has added CT-9473, CT-2846, and CT-8160]

CT-2373: hello brothers

[CT-2373 has changed their name to Salt]

Salt: force what an idiot we got stuck with

[CT-2846 has changed their name to Bookish]

Bookish: Are you referring to the Senator or the Jedi?

I cannot handle this right now. Kark, I would bang my head against the wall of the ship if it wouldn’t upset Ginia and the senators. I stare at the display in my helmet and decide that I should add my two credits.

[CT-8160 has changed their name to Bingo]

Bingo: guys please do not talk bad about the Jedi she’s gonna do great

Bingo: and yes, this senator guy is karking stupid but we gotta protect him, it’s our duty

Salt: what do you like the jedi or something 

Bookish: Romantic relationships with the Jedi are strictly outlawed in the regulation manuals!

Bookish: I would not advise that course of action.

If no one shuts up these troopers soon I will not only bang my head against the wall, but bang their tin cans together too. Ginia must sense my irritation (I hate it when the Jedi do that) because she’s trying to catch my eye from behind my bucket, but I just shake my head. 

“Don’t worry, General, it’s nothi-ah!”

Diamond’s been doing a pretty great job of avoiding the atmospheric disturbances so far, but our ship still hits a rough patch of air that throws Salt headfirst right into Jar Jar’s stomach. I guess that’s what he gets for barely holding on to the overhead handles. I tighten my grip.

Salt: hjfdsk778erindHAUAOiu99002!!Iiop

Salt: sorry that’s from being thrown bucket first into a gungan

[CT-9473 has changed their name to Ben]

Ben: i think the senator’s funny

Salt: you would 

Bingo: anyways I do not have a crush on our general, we are just friends

Bookish: …

Bingo: for real

Suddenly the general looks even more scared, as though she just sensed (felt? How does the Force work?) something that made her go weak at the knees. “Bookish, are you picking anything up on those scanners?”

Bookish flips through the settings on his bucket and shakes his head. “Sir, it’s hard to get a reading in such strong weather conditions, but I don’t think I’m sensing any unusual activity. Nothing to worry about – according to the navicomputer, we’re only about a half a klick to the surface.”

Senator Amidala glances worryingly at our general. “Do you sense something hostile, Knight Ginia? I understand that the Force is often a useful guide on missions like this.” What a smart gal – in contrast, her companion is currently trying to unstick his tongue from the side of Salt’s helmet.

Salt: I’m never working with gungans again

Salt: kriff no I’m back to the 501st after this dreadful mission is over

Salt: general skywalker knows what he’s doing 

Ben: I like the general, she seems nice 

Bookish: Nice is one thing, capable is another.

Bingo: oh force shut the kriff up all of you we have a mission to complete

Ben: ^^

Ginia nods. “I sense the Dark like I’ve never felt before – I thought I was nervous before, now I’m just terrified. I wish I had time to meditate, but sadl-” her eyes widen and she cuts off abruptly to frantically search for her comm. “Diamond – Diamond – look out, something’s coming!”

“Copy that, General,” Diamond replies easily, “but our scanners aren’t picking up anything unusual. We should be down to the surface so-” 

The front of the ship goes up in flames as a torpedo nails the cockpit straight on, and Ginia goes white and grabs her comm again.

“Diamond! Diamond! Come in, trooper!”

Only static.

She keeps a white-knuckle grip on Senator Amidala’s arm as we hurtle down to the surface, and once again I wonder, why are there Senators with us? Our flaming hunk of a gunship careens through the lower levels of the Nal Hutta atmosphere, and I really wish I’d practiced riding one of these things before.

“Well, team, I think we’re gonna be down to the surface a lot sooner than Diamond anticipated,” Salt adds as he finally grabs the overhead handles, and I sigh with relief when I see that Salt’s got a firm grip on the Gungan. Losing vode is one thing; losing Senators is quite another. I don’t feel like getting decommissioned for getting a Senator killed, if we make it out of this mess alive. The floor of the gunship rocks as we hit another atmospheric disturbance, and we all hold our breath as we look out the small windows and see the swamp approaching really kriffing quickly. 

“Doing all right, Senator?” Ginia screams over the whoosh our flaming gunship makes as it free-falls down to the surface.

“Never better, General! I’ve been in a similar situation enough times in my life,” Senator Amidala shoots back with a plastered-on smile. I thought I was going to have to be the one with my head on straight during this mission, but it looks like the Senator’s taken my title. I’m not complaining. 

Bookish looks up hurriedly from the readings on his wrist-pad and yells over the sound of the wind, “Reaching the ground in T minus five, four, three-”

“Oh, shut up already!” yells Salt, and Senator Binks grips his armor-covered upper arm like his life depends on it – I suppose it does.

The floor beneath us rocks violently as our ship – no, it’s more like a scrap heap now – finally crashes into the Nal Hutta swamp at what feels like a gazillion klicks per click. Mud rushes in through the cracks in the side of the ship and coats us all is a layer of muck, but that’s a secondary concern. Right now, everyone’s gotta get out. 

“Roll call, team,” I call out, hoping that the audio transmitter on my bucket isn’t covered in mud. “Everyone, check in.”

“Salt, present and accounted for” – a gloved hand appears and wipes the slime off of a blue helmet – “and Senator Binks has a very firm grasp on my arm.”

“Ben? You there, trooper?” I ask. Gotta take special care of the shinies.

Yellow-painted plastoid rises up from the mud on the floor. “Yes sir, Bingo, I’m here. Where’s Bookish?”

“I’m here.” A gloved hand rises from the muck, and I grab and pull. First a bucket, then blue shoulder pads, and then the rest of Bookish follows. “My tech’s been messed up from the mud, and I’m not sure how to complete a mission without it. Where’s the General?”

Oh, the general. Poor thing, her first mission and she’s covered in mud in a flaming gunship. Flaming gunship – we’ve gotta get out of this thing. 

“She’s here,” Senator Amidala coughs out some mud. “She’s here, but she’s a little, um, shell-shocked.” Kriff, it figures. “It looks like all seven of us are here.”

“Wait-” Ben asks seriously, twisting his hands together, “What about Diamond?”  
Ginia looks up weakly. “He’s gone. He died in the crash, I felt it.” She looks paler now than she did boarding the gunship this morning, and I didn’t think that was possible. “I’ve failed him. I’ve failed you all!”

I sigh heavily – it’s pep talk time again. This is what best friends do for each other, right, I remind myself as I slog through the mud over to my general. “Ginia, look at me.”

She doesn’t even try to make eye contact.

“Ben, hold this. Don’t get mud on the inside.” I grab my helmet and shove it into Ben’s hands. “Ginia, look at me. Diamond is dead. That is the price of war – he was a great soldier and a terrific pilot that flew us past a karking Separatist blockade – but he’s dead now. Don’t blame yourself, di’kut. You did all you could. Now get your head out of the mud – literally and figuratively – and grab your courage, because we have some Hutts to rescue. You hear me?”

I grab her chin and force her to look me in the eye. “Yes sir, trooper,” she finally says with a wry smile. She lets go of Senator Amidala’s arm and pats herself down to make sure nothing got left in the mud. “Come on, men – and Senator –, we have some Hutts to rescue,” she adds with more confidence than I’ve seen in a rotation. I slip my helmet back on and we set off, slogging through the mud. 

“Meesa like deesa planet!” Senator Binks informs us as he slips in the mud. “Itsa like meesa home’n planet!” I’m glad that one of us is enjoying ourselves, because no one else in our merry band is having a good time. Bookish is stressing over his lost tech, and I don’t think that anyone’s confident in Ginia leading the way using the Force. We tramp through the mud silently; it’s the safest thing to do on a stealth mission, but no one (except for Senator Binks) really wants to talk, anyway. Apparently we crash-landed near civilization, because we pass a few super-sized homes on the way to wherever our general is leading us. 

“Look at the size of those doors,” Salt whispers and pokes Ben with his elbow. “How big do you reckon the ladies that fit through those doors are?”

“Shut up!” Bookish hisses, and most of us are quiet again.

We walk a few more paces through the slime until the general stops abruptly and gestures out to the side with her arm. On her signal, us four troopers grab our guns and prep them to fire. We wait silently outside of the clearing that’s just ahead of us. The general hears us prepping our guns and turns around confused.  
“What are you gonna shoot, mud?” Ginia asks, confused. 

“Sir,” Ben begins hesitantly, “you gestured for us to ready our weapons.” He shifts his grip on his pistol and repeats the side gesture with his arm.  
Ginia slaps her forehead. “Kriff!” she mutters under her breath. “Sorry Ben, I don’t know the official military sign language. Nothing to shoot yet, we just need to move to the side.”

We skirt our way along the edge of the clearing until we’re within a stone’s throw of a huge building. This must be the Hutts’ palace – Ginia’s done it! Maybe my pep talk worked. 

Bingo: well guys this is it

Bingo: told you the general would lead us here

Salt: a general that doesn’t know the official GAR signage? count me out 

Salt: failure of a general

Bookish: Shut up, please.

“Finally,” Bookish gripes with a disgusted tone of voice. “Finally, I can wipe this mud off my armor.”

Ginia’s eyes light up. “No, wait!” she whispers energetically. “The mud will make good camouflage, I bet, and with your colored armor, we can use all the camouflage we can get. Leave it on for now.”

Senator Amidala looks at her appraisingly and nods with a smile. Leaning over to me, she whispers, “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. It looks like your pep talk worked.” I smile back, but I’m an idiot – she can’t see behind my tin can.

Ben: guys I knew she was smart

Ben: I like her a lot she’s nice  
Salt: I’m not sold

Ginia crouches down behind a large rock and then peers over the top to get a better look at the palace. “That’s odd,” she says. “I’m barely sensing any life in there. I wonder what happened to all the bounty hunters.”

She’s lost in concentration, but the rest of us stare in fear as a long, long, black shadow passes over us and a pair of tall boots steps up onto Ginia’s rock. 

“Well, well, well…” comes a raspy voice. “What have we here?”

The general jerks out of her meditation and looks up to see just what happened to one of the bounty hunters. “Um, you’ve got two Senators, four troopers, and a Jedi,” she answers carefully with a funny look on her face. Well, I guess that honesty is the best policy.  
“Quite a pretty young Jedi,” comes that raspy voice again, and a gloved hand touches the brim of his hat – I didn’t know they made hats that big – in a mocking sign of respect. “Can’t say that I’ve ever had the pleasure of making your acquaintance before during the course of my…business ventures, little lady. I suppose you’re here to kill me and my coworkers?”

Ginia looks at Senator Amidala.  
Senator Amidala looks at me.

I let out a long breath and nod my head at Ginia encouragingly. I don’t get paid enough for this. Stang, I don’t get paid at all.

“Um, yes,” the general, standing up out of the mud. “Yes, we are here to kill you and your coworkers.” Even standing up, the top of her head only comes up to the holster at the mystery man’s hips. Her hand drifts to the saber hilt at her waist, but I can see her fingers shaking.

“Too bad,” Big Hat Guy responds carelessly. “They’re already dead.” He pulls the toothpick out from between his teeth and tosses it into the mud. Ginia goes white, and I think that one more shock will make her keel over. 

Before any of us know what’s happening, the general leaps out of the muck and lands neatly on the rock with the bounty hunter, sliding a little because of the slime on her boots. Pinning him with a muddy boot on his equally muddy boots, she spins on one toe behind him and presses the hilt of her saber to his neck.

“Tell us everything, bounty hunter. And sorry, Senator Amidala – I got some mud on you when I jumped.”

Senator Amidala looks exasperated, but at least she gets paid for this. “It’s all right, Ginia. I had a bit on me already.” Kriff, I would marry her if General Skywalker didn’t beat me to it.

Big Hat Guy looks warily down at the weapon pressed to his neck, and then shifts his gaze back to the Jedi holding him captive. “Name’s Cad Bane, missy,” he rasps. 

“Who hired you?”

“Some man in a black cloak, paid me handsomely.”

“Why are your coworkers dead? Did you do it?”

Silence. Ginia forces the hilt of her saber a little closer to his neck.

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk. I didn’t kill them, not that I wouldn’t like to. I was on guard duty around the perimeter, and when I came back almost everyone in the palace was dead. When I saw you, I assumed you were responsible.” Ginia goes even paler as Big Ha – Bane finishes his story. 

“Take us there.”

Bane jumps down off the rock and lands neatly with the help of his rocket boots. What I wouldn’t give for some rocket boots – some brothers have jet packs, and they look like they have the time of their lives. We all fall into line behind Bane as he leads us straight across the clearing into the palace. 

“Hang on, bounty hunter,” I say, “shouldn’t we be a bit more discreet? Go in a back way or something?”

He wheels around to look at me condescendingly, and Ginia pushes her saber hilt deeper into his back. “I already told you, friend, no one’s home. Just some injured slave girls and five Hutts locked in the basement.”

“So, the Hutts are safe?” Ginia asks with bright eyes. She glances at me, and I can almost read her mind. Finally, something might go right.

“As safe as it is to assume that Chancellor Palpatine’ll be re-elected,” Bane smirks.

That’s pretty karking safe. Hooray, a lifetime of guarding Old Palps’ door.

Bane kicks open the Hutts’ front door and gestures for us to enter the front hall. The remaining seven of us walk in warily, those of us who are blessed with weapons keeping one hand on our hip, ready for action. 

Nothing surprising, just sad.

The general and Senator Amidala step through the carnage in the great hall, and I can see their sadness on their faces as they walk around the broken bodies of slaves and bounty hunters alike. 

“Who did this? Who is capable of such evil?” Senator Amidala asks, looking pensive.

Ginia leans down and traces a smoking hole in a bounty hunter’s armored stomach. “These are lightsaber wounds,” she realizes, but that’s not a very reassuring realization.

“Who could have done all this killing?” Ben asks, echoing Senator Amidala’s question and gesturing around at the bodies scattered across the floor.

“More importantly,” Ginia keeps getting paler, “Who else is planetside that’s capable of such evil?” We all stop to think about the dangers that lie ahead of us. 

“I wish these bounty hunters were still alive,” Salt groans. “I’d rather take a posse of bounty hunters than Count Dooku any day.” In a softer voice, he adds, “and we don’t have anyone who could put up a fair fight against Dooku.”

What else can I do? I kick Salt in the shin, and the general turns around and bows her head. Senator Amidala rescues Senator Binks from Salt, who’s nursing his bruised shin. Bookish is cataloguing the casualties for the mission report I’m sure he’ll write later on, and Ben stands there, horrified. How did our strike team end up with such an awkward group of people? There’s a tink on the hard floor, and I turn to see that Bane has discarded another toothpick. He looks at me out from under his stupidly big hat and tilts his head towards the general. 

“Ginia! Where are you going?”

But she’s seen something. She slides across the slick floor (everyone’s still very muddy) and I slide after her. She grinds to a halt in front of a green body that’s – I hold my breath – feebly moving. Ginia bends down and leans over the Rodian.

“Hello,” she begins. “Wait, no –” she finishes in a completely different language. I tilt my head at her. She grins back. Finally, she looks happy. 

“It’s possible that she,” the general gestures to the Rodian on the floor, “doesn’t speak Basic. I may have been terrible at lightsaber combat, but I was a whiz at languages.” She looks back at the girl on the floor and rests a hand on her forehead. She concentrates, and the girl starts to move again. 

The general starts the clicking again, and this time, the girl responds. Something about the way Ginia looks makes her freeze, but some more clicking from Ginia, and the girl makes an odd curvy gesture in the air. The action must have taken all her energy because her hand falls back to Ginia’s lap, limp. Ginia looks troubled.

“Care to translate?”

“She froze at the sight of my lightsaber, which makes me even more sure that these are lightsaber wounds. She clarified, though, that the lightsaber that hurt her and killed the rest was slightly curved,” Ginia says, tracing the smoking hole in the girl’s shoulder with one finger. 

“Count Dooku!” I blurt out. 

“How do you know?”

“Hey, I’m ‘unfit for duty on the front lines’, remember? I make up for it by reading reports for all the battles. General Skywalker clarified the design of Count Dooku’s lightsaber in a report after it cut off his hand a couple years ago.”

The general looks impressed. “Wow, that’s dedication. Here, let’s get this girl to Senator Amidala. She’ll know what to do.”

“You’re the Jedi!”

“You think I know what to do with…what are these? Prisoners of war?”

I grab the girl under the arms and drag her back across the hall. “Hey, watch out!” Ginia grabs my arm. “Be more careful with her.” 

I drag her backwards across the hall until I bump into someone. Senator Amidala?

“Well, well, well, isn’t this a touching sight.”

I feel the unmistakable jab of a blaster against my lower back, and my knees almost go out. Reading about missions and actually being on a mission are two very different things.

“Little lady, Senators, men, good day to you all,” comes that raspy voice again. “I’ve had a very pleasant time getting to know you all, but I must be taking my leave – on your ship, of course. Have a fun time in the mud with the Hutts.”

The general and I exchange worried glances. “Our ship is –”

“– Oh, no, not our ship!” Senator Amidala cries as dramatically as possible. “No, please, bounty hunter, our ship is our only ticket off this slimehole!” She takes a deep breath and falls into Senator Binks’ arms. 

The other troopers, the general, and I look at each other, and I know we’re all smiling. Yeah, he can have our ship if he wants. 

“You can’t have our ship!” Salt yells, brandishing his rifle in the humid air. “Not if we get there first!” He spins around on the slick floor and takes off running back out the entrance to the palace. Ginia and I share a look and then take off running after him. Nice not to feel a blaster in my back anymore.

“Ben, Senator Amidala, Bookish,” Ginia barks as we run out the door, “stay here, find the Hutts, and take care of the wounded! Bingo, Salt, Senator Binks, you’re with me.” She flashes a grin at me as I come running up beside her. “We’ve got a ship to...protect.”

Ben: guys help what’s going on

Ben: our ship is blowing up ?? does no one remember that ??

Ben: why are you trying to race bane to our ship ??

Salt: oh, we remember

Salt: flaming ship = bane’s DOOM

Bookish: I never thought I’d say this, but good thinking, Salt. 

Running out of the palace and across the clearing is easy enough, but everyone’s moving a lot slower when we reach the mud on the other side. It takes all our effort to put one foot in front of another, and the fact that a really good bounty hunter is shooting at us isn’t helping. Ginia whips out her lightsaber to try to deflect some of the blasts, but it does more harm than good. She deflects one of the bolts through Senator Bink’s long flapping ear things, so I guess he can borrow some of Senator Amidala’s stylish earrings now. 

It’s hard to run in the mud, it’s hard to run in the mud while shooting, and it’s really hard to run in the mud while shooting at a bounty hunter wearing rocket boots, but we manage to retrace our steps back to the slimy clearing with our burning hunk of a gunship in it. The four of us form a half circle around our scrap heap and catch our breath as Bane floats into the clearing behind us. 

“When I followed you back to your ship, I didn’t expect you to lead me to a junk pile,” Bane snarls, and Salt and I grip our blasters a little tighter. 

“I didn’t expect you to fall for it,” Salt says with what sounds like a smirk.

Ginia looks back and forth between Salt and Bane. “Um, I think you made him mad,” she says hesitantly.

Bane growls and launches himself out of the mud and right at Salt. Salt dodges to his right, and finally all that battle training on Kamino has a time to shine. I look at my brother and nod - he’ll take care of the Senator, I’ll watch the general.

My instincts kick in as Bane shoots up from the mud and fires a couple rounds towards me.

“Watch your six!”

“General! Over here!”

“Go, go, go!”

It’s by no means a full-frontal assault, but for my first time on a mission, it’ll do. The blaster fire is coming hot and heavy as I spin around to shoot off a couple rounds at Bane as he swings around behind the General. 

“Senator, get out of the way!”

“Meesa wants to fight!”

“Troopers, take his left!”

Salt and I dodge the blaster fire as we slide under Bane’s rocket boots and trap his left flank. Ah - maybe Ginia has some battle smarts after all - his right flank is completely unprotected.  
“Keep his fire, boys!”

Ginia backs up across the clearing and starts running through the mud back towards us - faster, faster, until she’s practically sprinting through the muck - and flips up and over Salt and I. We’re supposed to be drawing Bane’s fire, but Ginia’s drawing everyone’s gaze as she almost seems to fly through the sticky Nal Hutta air, lightsaber in hand. She’s covered in mud, but I don’t think she’s ever looked better. 

No. 

Bookish is right, it’s against regs.

I shake my head and snap back to the present as she starts to fall back to the ground, right by Bane’s right flank. Right. Mission. Blaster.

Salt and I start shooting again at Bane as the general tucks and rolls. The landing sends even more waves of mud sloshing up to coat everyone on the ground - lucky Bane - but two quick slashes of a lightsaber and the rocket boots are no more. Bane falls to the ground and lands on his shebs with two blasters and a lightsaber pointed at his ugly blue face. 

He looks at the tree line and smiles.

“All right, little lady,” he smirks, “you win. Kill me now, if you must, but make it quick. You’re about to be real busy soon.”

The point of the lightsaber hovering near his cheek quivers.

Ginia’s face is flushed (that’s something new for today).

The point of the lightsaber falls into the mud.

“I can’t.”

Bane’s eyes dart up to the general from under the brim of his big hat. “Beg pardon?”

“I can’t. You helped us, we’ll help you. Get going.”

I jump in, “Um, sir, that’s a very considerate statement, but-”

“But he did just try to kill us,” Salt pulls off his helmet, probably to make sure that everyone can see him rolling his eyes.

“You heard me. Get going.” The general’s saber buzzes back into the hilt and is clipped back to her waist.

Bane sits still for a minute, then hauls himself up from the ground, brushing mud off his gloves. “Until we meet again, friends. Little lady.” One courteous nod and a touch of his hat brim and Cad Bane is gone. For now. He’ll probably be back later to stir up some more trouble.

Bookish: We’ve located the Hutts and freed them from the basement. Mission accomplished. We’ve called for a pickup from the Redeemer in orbit around Nal Hutta.

Ben: how are things at our scrap heap ?

Salt: the general let bane go free

Bookish: That’s completely unheard of.

I better back Salt up. It’s a strange story, he needs all the help he can get telling it.

Bingo: yeah, she let him go

Bingo: we bested him though

Ben: our general’s so great

Salt: you should have seen the look on this di’kut’s face when she flew

Bookish: Flew?

Bingo: …My helmet was on? How did you see my face…?

Salt: senator amidala can be their wedding planner

Salt: hold up I gotta go take care of Senator Binks

[Salt is idle]

I can’t do this anymore. I log off of the comm feature in my bucket and pull off the helmet. It’s nice not to have a mud-covered field of vision anymore, but as soon as I can see clearly, I wish I hadn’t. 

Ginia’s on her knees in the mud with her head between her hands, shaking all over.

“No…no…get out of my head…”

I squat down beside her and rest my hand on her back. “Sir? What’s wrong.”

She turns her face up to look at me, and her eyes are wide. “He’s here. He’s coming for us.”

Salt and the Senator (with his newly pierced ear bandaged up - Salt’s handiwork, I guess) walk over to us. “What’sa wrong, general?” asks Binks. “Who’sa here?” 

We all look out to the treeline as we finally see the cold, dark shadow of a small golden ship extend long and low from behind the Nal Hutta foliage. I’ve read enough mission reports to know who’s ship that is.

Ginia’s chin drops down to her chest, and she’s trembling as violently as Palps during a coughing fit, but she steels herself to grab her lightsaber from the mud and rise to her feet.

“Dooku.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da long chapter fo today :0
> 
> Congrats! You did it! That was a doozy, I'm quite proud of you. Next up: COUNT DOOKU
> 
> I'm quite excited


	6. Chapter 6 (Count Yan Dooku)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Count Dooku Is Also Annoyed By The Copious Amounts Of Mud On Nal Hutta

Nal Hutta is a vile planet.

Whatever galactic deities decided to create such a filthy hole such as this one deserve to be run through with my lightsaber as slowly as humanly possible.

As my ship sits, waiting, outside a small clearing in the nasty forest, I focus myself. Not using Jedi meditation, no. The Jedi are weak and foolish, and therefore as is their preferred method of concentration. No, I solely focus my power in the Dark, mentally honing my skills, plotting my future moves on the surface of the planet below me, and I remember my master’s bidding.

“Apprentice.”

I remember sinking into a deep bow, my cloak settling around me. “Yes, master.”

I watched his mouth move beneath his dark robes. “Our weak-minded, fiscally-motivated bounty hunters have successfully captured the Hutts. The Order has dispatched Obi-Wan Kenobi, upon my request, to free them. I have also ordered Senator Amidala to join the Republic’s strike team on Nal Hutta. You must eliminate them.”

“A curious collection of people, my lord,” I said. Oh, how I regret saying that.

“Do not underestimate Kenobi, and especially not Amidala. Your task is set before you: the loss of two major influences in young Skywalker’s life will prove crucial for him joining our side. Our bounty hunters have successfully completed their part of this mission; if you fail, are you lesser than them, apprentice?” He enunciated the dreaded word so clearly, as he always does.

His words stung. “No, my master, I will not fail you. We are the most powerful beings in the galaxy. Nothing will stop us.”

“I am the most powerful being in the galaxy!” he spat. “Do not soon forget it.”

I shift my thoughts to a fresher memory, one that casts me in a much better light. Bits and pieces of the memory swirl in my head as I focus.

A flash of red.

Screams for mercy.

Bounty hunters and slaves, the scum of the galaxy, lying dead by my blade on the cold marble floor.

I quit reminiscing and close my eyes as my ship gently touches down in the clearing, reaching out into the storm of the Dark Side of the Force to search for Kenobi’s dreadful presence.

I find nothing, nothing but a few pitiful sparks of light flickering in the wash of my Dark power. Hm. Unusual. For once, not everything is going according to my master’s plan. 

My ship’s offramp hisses open, and a ray of sunlight peeks in from the crack in between the ramp and the side of the ship. The ramp touches down in the mud, and I place one shiny boot on the offramp.

I sense fear in the Force.

I’m not quite sure what to expect at the bottom of this offramp, but whatever it is can’t be as difficult to best in combat as Kenobi. I tread carefully down the rest of the ramp and take one small step into the Nal Hutta mud. It makes a dreadful noise and completely swallows my foot. I take one more step, and my cloak’s hem settles into the mud. I clasp my hands behind my back and survey the scene in front of me.

Two clones, both radiating immense fear, as they should. A foolish gungan, who I believe is a Senator from Naboo. And finally, a Jedi. A female, whose visible trembling only adds to the fear that surrounds her. Her fear only fuels my Dark power. 

The girl takes a step forward and inclines her head. “Count Dooku,” she says, attempting confidence. “Your reputation precedes you.” I see the clones’ hands drift towards their holsters - so uncivilized - as they eye us both warily.

“As it should,” I reply, keeping eye contact with the girl. “I’m afraid yours does not.”

“Names have power, is what my master always taught me. I won’t throw mine around so easily,” the girl responds stoically. I admire her stubbornness, if nothing else about her. Insolent brat.

“Very well, Padawan,” and I see her stiffen at my cruel jab, “But the fact that I am not aware of your name does not bode well for your skills and experience - or your lack of such.” She flinches and grabs her saber hilt from her waist. 

“Ready to fight, are we?” I chuckle. The latest generation of Jedi are so eager to fight, so eager to prove their power. True power, however, doesn’t come from the outdated sayings of a wizened old frog. It comes from passion and rage, funneled into pure strength. 

“Let’s even the playing field first,” I say with a wry smile, and with a flick of my wrist, I toss her clone escort and the Senator up against the thick tree trunks surrounding the clearing. There’s a sickly crunch as two helmeted heads and a gungan skull collide with the wood, a nauseating noise as they slide down into the mud, and then all is still. All is still except the Force, which resonates with her fear and my power. 

The girl shakes a bit but stands her ground; I’m both impressed and disgusted by her stubbornness. Normally I would think it a waste to dispose of a Force-user that could be converted to the Dark, but this one seems rather pitiful. Just another rung to ascend in my rise to power.

No. My master’s rise to power.

Leaving one arm behind my back, I draw my saber and brandish it in front of me, striking a pose that, I believe, should strike fear into anyone who dares look upon me. I know my skills with the saber are almost unparalleled, and this miserable little girl who clings desperately to the Jedi ways of old is certainly no match for me. 

She finally ignites her saber and grabs it in both hands, carefully squaring her feet up below her shoulders. Foolish girl, using such a common saber form. Everyone who is anyone knows the beginning saber form like the back of their hand, and more importantly, how to counter it.

I strike first.

She’s a simple opponent, and her trepidation with the saber is apparent. She quickly goes on the defense, attempting to protect herself against my quick, precise strikes.

Slice.

Parry.

Spin.

Fighting Kenobi, I think as I idly drive the girl back across the clearing, is much more elegant. Our blades dance in such a refined manner, our strokes powerful and lightning-quick. Fighting with this pitiful child is like dancing wearing durasteel shoes – it doesn’t flow. It’s easy to see that her weakness is her strict adherence to the rigid movements of the saber form; she doesn’t even attempt to improvise at all.

That shall be her downfall.

I drive her back across the clearing until her back is almost touching one of the huge trees so common on this filthy planet, and the fear radiating off of her fuels my strength in the Dark Side of the Force. 

Strike.

Block.

I watch her face as she shifts her grip on the saber and adjusts her footing, and any fool who knows the beginning saber form can tell her next move. Her left foot steps out, her saber swings down with a two-handed grip. It’s a simple move, one quite easily undone.

I spin my saber around and bring it down precisely next to her firm grip on the saber.

The front half of the saber falls to the mud, probably never to be seen again.

I watch with cruel satisfaction as the hand holding the back half of the saber drops to her side, and her jaw drops too. Foolish Jedi, placing too much faith in outdated knowledge and simple saber forms. Only from faith in the Dark Side can one learn of true power and strength.

Fear clouds the Force surrounding her as I lash out with my saber again, carefully timing my strokes as she ducks and dodges my blade. 

“Miserable Jedi,” I goad as she avoids a strike that would have taken off the top of her head, “All alone and with no friends to help you.” She pulls one of her feet up from out of the mud, but the effort leaves her distracted. 

One of my precise strikes finally meets its mark, leaving a long, smoking gash the length of her arm. She gasps and slumps against the tree. Finally, I can rid the galaxy of this useless girl.

“Good riddance, Padawan.” I spin my saber and raise it high.

“Actually, sleemo, it’s General.”

The brat looks up from under her eyelids and stretches to look over my shoulder. I turn around slowly, putting one horribly muddied boot in front of the other, to see what fool has distracted me from carrying out my master’s bidding.

A clone in blue armor holds his head in one hand and a blaster in the other. “You heard me,” he growls. “She’s a general. She’s our general.”

“Insolent clone,” I growl, levelling my saber with his neck. “I suppose I will have to dispose of you, too.”

“Salt,” the Jedi murmurs, and I can sense her fear for this clone’s life.

The Force shifts, and I feel the girl’s fear shift slightly to hesitation and – is that hope? Hope for survival? It is my master’s will for any source of hope in the galaxy to be snuffed out, and that is what I plan on doing. One hero of the Republic at a time.

The clone fires, and I deflect the blasts – one, two, three blue flashes of light – neatly and precisely back at him. His body stiffens upon the impact with the blaster fire, then slumps to the ground, his precious armor becoming even more caked with mud.

“Salt!” the girl screams, and victory is within my grasp.

Everything is still. I can feel the girl’s fear and rising anger. She knows she’s next. The clone in red armor and the ridiculous Senator are starting to stir under the trees.

“What a vile planet to die on, Padawan,” I goad, “but what an honor to perish by my blade.” I spin my saber in circles idly in front of me, waiting for a response. Her eyes dart around and then widen.

“Um, yes,” the insolent fool responds, “what an honor.” She pulls her other foot out of the mud. “But I want to postpone it.”

Her fist swings forwards and collides with my jaw.

It’s a weak punch, of course, but nevertheless the top half of my body staggers backwards, right into the muzzle of a blaster.

Blaster?

“Fancy seeing such a nobleman around here, eh, Jedi?” comes a terribly raspy voice.

One quick blaster bolt and my lightsaber is out of my hand and in the mud, but I can still best these brats in hand-to-hand combat. Jedi and bounty hunter, what an unusual team. I can use this to my advantage.

Dodge.

Land a hit.

Feint right.

The bounty hunter’s rocket boots are not functioning, and the Jedi is less acrobatic than I expected. Their movements are sluggish, sloppy, and I can tell they’re not used to fighting together.

Kick with the right.

Block left.

The pair put up a good fight, I’ll admit that much. I draw the Force around me, every inch of my impressive frame and sharp mind relying on the surge of power that I can draw from the Dark Side. I focus all my movements, concentrating on precise, powerful hits. Any movement in my peripheral vision, any distractions away from the fight are wastes of mental energy that I cannot afford. 

And then a sideways glance from the Jedi to the trees at the edge of the clearing, a whisper from the Jedi to the bounty hunter, they back up, I have an easy opening to land a punch, but a flurry of movement in the corner of my eye, the sound of a blaster being prepped, a ring of blue light –

When I come to, I’m laying facedown in the Nal Hutta mud, hands bound and lightsaber nowhere to be seen. The rush of thrusters and a dark shadow of a gunship only confirm my worst fears – the Jedi and her team have left me on this planet. I suppose it’s better than being taken in for Republic interrogation. As I groggily sit up, my perceptive eyes (perhaps not that perceptive, given today’s turn of events) follow a trail of rocket boot prints into the clearing where my ship…once was. Insolent bounty hunter. My master and I paid him handsomely, and yet he still has the audacity to steal my ship. I stand up out of the mud, and something in the mud catches my eye.

Sorry we got mud on your cape! Love, Ginia and Cad Bane

A muddy stick lays next to this petty message scrawled into the filthy canvas of the planet’s surface. It will be painful to wait here until extraction from the Separatist blockade surrounding the planet. 

As I lean up against a tree and use the Force to unlock my binders, I remember: as pitiful and humiliated as I feel now, this will be nothing compared to when my master learns of my failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter that much. Dooku's severely underpowered for the sake of the plot, and that's bothering me a little. Let me know what ya think :))
> 
> next up? back to Ginia, duh. next chapter's my favorite


	7. Chapter 7 (Jedi Knight Ginia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which The Nal Hutta Mud Finally Gets Washed Off And Ginia Is A Perfect Jedi

I don’t think that Healer Che’s ever seen this many non-Jedi in the Halls of Healing.

After my arm got fixed up, I got shooed out to make room for operation on Salt, who’s in critical condition, and the Rodian girl, who’s apparently recovering really quickly. I guess I was doing what I always do – being in the way and making things worse. 

I step outside into the hall, cradling my bandaged arm, and find the rest of my team, who all look out of place in the serene halls of the Temple. The troopers’ multicolored armor (it’s still muddy – they’re all still muddy – how do you clean plastoid?) looks really strange in the halls where I’m used to seeing robes. 

Bookish turns to look at me from his seat on the floor. “How’s Salt doing? Will he be alright?”

I bow my head, and fear wells up inside me and overflows into the Force. “He’s undergoing surgery as we speak. Healer Che doesn’t have an optimistic outlook.”

Bookish’s head falls to his chest as he realizes that the last of his batchmates could be a lost cause. I glance sideways at Bingo, who drops a heavy hand onto his fellow trooper’s shoulder. Senator Amidala bends down to Ben, who’s sitting on the floor besides Bookish, curled up and staring blankly forwards. 

Our mission might have been a slim success, but the memories of Diamond and the fear for Salt overshadow any cause for celebration we might feel. Everyone knows we’re going to feel the hurt from this mission for a long time yet.

“Well, men – and Senator,” I say resignedly. “I’ve got to report to the Council at oh-seventeen-hundred, so I’d better clean up before then. It was an honor serving with you all,” I add with a nod as I turn to walk away.

“Wait!” Bingo grabs my forearm as I head off down the hall. “Can I use your shower? I’ll need to get the mud off my armor, and frankly, all of me could use a good wash. And you and I need to have a talk.”

Oh, I don’t like where this is going.

Bookish looks skeptical. “I’m not sure how Jedi generals feel about a clone in their-”

“It’ll be fine,” finishes Senator Amidala with a smile. “Go, get ready for your briefing, Ginia. Jar Jar and I can wrangle these two,” she adds with a gesture to Ben and Bookish. 

I look sideways at Bingo, who only looks at me and shrugs. “I’m muddy, you can’t deny that.”

“Fine. Come on. See you later, Senator, Bookish, Ben.”

I stomp just a little bit ahead of Bingo as I lead us through the Temple’s cavernous halls. He probably thinks I look like a youngling with an attitude, but frankly, I don’t care. He can watch me stomp all rotation long and no “we need to have a talk” will do anything about it.

My heavy footsteps come to a halt in front of my door, and I turn around to face Bingo. “Here you go. Shower’s to the right. I’ll be meditating in my bedroom, don’t disturb me.” I pause. “Please.”

He stops walking right in front of me and just looks. I remember him telling me during one of our late-night comm calls before this whole mess started that he always gets unnerved when I look at him, like I’m doing some sort of weird Force thing. Well, Bingo’s surely not Force-sensitive, but that’s what I feel like now.

“What is up with you? You’ve been acting so weird since we got back from Nal Hutta.”

I stare at him. He stares back defiantly. Okay, if he wants to have a talk, we’ll have a talk. 

“What is up with me? I just led what felt like a suicide mission into the slimy planet of Nal Hutta and you ask me what is up with me? One trooper dead, one in critical condition, and a Senator with a hole in his ear-”

“Ears are supposed to have holes in them-”

“Shut up and get in the karking shower!”

I Force-push this sentient lump of plastoid inside my quarters and slam the door shut, which probably wakes up the younglings two doors down. Oh well, I deserve to have this rant.

One confused look is all I get from him before he ducks behind the shower curtain and I hear the sound of plastoid being unbuckled. I throw myself down on the duracrete floor because if he wants to talk, oh, I’ll talk.

“Diamond’s dead, Ben, poor thing, is traumatized out of his mind, Bookish could lose his last batchmate tonight, did I mention that my lightsaber was cut in half? Not that it really matters, because I was always a kriffing idiot with lightsaber combat. You know how we could have avoided this whole mess?”

The only noise coming from the other sounds of the shower curtain is the sound of rushing water hitting plastoid.

“Maybe, the council could have decided to send someone more qualified. Maybe, no not maybe – I should have spent more time practicing saber combat as a Padawan! More effort on my part could have gotten us out of this mess, I’m sure of it. If I had only tried harder, been better-”

The shower curtain screeches open and a dripping wet torso clad only in shoulder armor pokes its head out from around the corner. If I wasn’t this close to crying, I’d start giggling, but my throat is all choked up and instead the laugh comes out in these ugly honks. Great, now he’ll laugh at me.

“Ginia, look at me.”

“Oh, I’m looking. You look ridiculous.” He pulls the shower curtain a little tighter around his stomach. 

“Ginia, if there is one thing that I do not want to hear, it’s you blaming yourself.”

“Who else is there to blame?”

“If anything, blame Dooku and the Separatists for putting us in this impossible situation.” He leans over and shakes his head like a dog, spraying water all over the front of my muddy robes. 

“You mean the same Dooku that I had to leave on Nal Hutta because I was too weak to properly subdue him for a long enough period of time to transport him to Coruscant?” Whatever argument he’s trying to make, it’s coming up short against my wall of self-doubt. Not much penetrates that wall.

“No, di’kut. The Dooku that our team was forced to leave because we were unable to properly detain him. Get your head out the gutter and try to look at things my way. Yes, we lost a brother. Yes, one’s in critical condition. Yes, you lost a lightsaber and that kriffing gungan has an extra hole in his ear.”

“You’re just parroting me at this point-”

“But…” He pauses in his sentence to let go of the shower curtain, and as it falls back into place I can see his shadow reach down to grab the rest of his kit. 

“But…what? What good came out of this mission, if any?” I ask. I’m sure there is some, but it’s hard to see past my mental cloud of disappointment and regret. The Force hangs thick in my quarters, bearing down on me.

“But we rescued the Hutts,” comes the muffled voice from behind the shower curtain. “We had the opportunity to save a life. Didn’t you tell me that the Rodian is in recovery as we speak? Salt is alive. And we did stun Dooku. That’s a first for the entire Grand Army of the Republic, I’m pretty sure.”

“You stunned Dooku,” I say, almost childishly, as I cross my arms with a huff.

He pulls back the shower curtain and tucks his helmet under one arm. “You softened him up for me. And without a lightsaber, too. I know it’s hard to see the good when it seems that so much bad is clouding your vision, but it’s worth it. Trust me.”

I raise one eyebrow at him. “You and I, we’re both rejects, in a way. You’re a clone that was declared ‘unfit for active duty’ and scheduled to be killed-”

“Terminated-”

“Killed! And I’m a Jedi with no skills except hanging around with younglings – I don’t even have a lightsaber anymore! And –”

“And yet a team led by misfits has pretty much guaranteed the Republic unlimited access to valuable hyperspace routes. Let’s give ourselves – give yourself – some credit.” He brushes past me on his way to the door, and then turns back to me and gives me a once-over. “Clean yourself up before the Council debrief, it’ll feel nice. See you later this evening? 79’s is open ‘round the clock, I can make plans with the boys.”

I scrunch up my nose. “How are you gonna plan with them? They’re with the Senator.”

He taps his helmet with a wink as he slides out the door. “Comm channels, baby. Comm channels.”

I turn to wipe some steam off the mirror of my bathroom as I finally have some peace and quiet again. Comm channels? Without me, their commanding officer? I grin for what feels like the first time in days – I’m missing out on some fun.

The next time I see Bingo, I’m significantly cleaner and significantly less stressed, not that giving my first mission report to the Council helped with that. I’m sure that every Master in the room (and probably all the hologram Masters) could sense my anxiety, but thank Force they tactfully decided to ignore it. Their discussion was still going on when I left, which means I’m probably getting another mission soon. 

Great.

Oh well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I shake my head quickly, not like that’ll help get unwelcome thoughts out. Tonight (according to Bingo) I’m going to have fun. As much fun as a Jedi is allowed to have, I think, and I know I have a sour expression on my face.

“What’s wrong with your face?” I pause in front of the entrance to the Temple as I sense the very clone I was thinking about strut up behind me with a joke, as always.

I turn around and squint at him. “Di’kut, you couldn’t even see my face!”

“Yeah, but there’s always something wrong with it.” That comment earns him a slap on his chestplate that sends him sprawling on the ground. “Hey, no fair. We agreed, no using the Force to punch me even harder!”

“You deserved that one!”

I stick out my hand to help him up off the ground, and he brushes himself off. “Oh, by the way, Ben and Bookish are bringing the Rodian along with them. Apparently, Senator Amidala ‘strongly encouraged’ it.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Is she healthy enough to go to a club?”

Bingo shrugs. “She used to be a slave girl, she’s probably used to stuff like this. Hey, here they come now!” He looks over my shoulder, and I turn around to see two troopers and a Rodian emerge from the shadows of the Temple. It occurs to me that I saved her life, and I don’t even know her name yet. I start jogging down the sidewalk to meet them, and a clankclankclank tells me that Bingo’s doing the same.

“Hey Ben, Bookish, um…”

The Rodian almost waltzes up to me and sinks into a low bow. “Oonara, General. My name is Oonara. Thank you for asking me.”

I grab her good arm with a firm grip and haul her back upright. She’s taller than me. “Please, Oonara, none of that ‘General’ garbage from now on,” I say with a smile. “My name’s Ginia, and this is Bingo. I guess you’ve already met Ben and Bookish? Troopers, this is Oonara,” and I gesture to her as I translate for the men.

Bookish looks grim. “We’ve met.” Ben’s eyes have progressed from looking as glassy as they were this afternoon to darting around everywhere. Poor thing, this first mission was so difficult for him mentally and physically. 

Bingo slaps on a million-credit smile and offers his hand to me. “Well, milady, shall we cavort off to 79’s?” 

“Oh yes, kind sir, let’s go at once,” I mimic, and I offer my hand to Oonara, who accepts it at once with a playful look in her big eyes. We sashay past Bingo, who looks put out, and I toss him a wink. He scowls and falls back to walk with Ben and Bookish, and I hear an “ow!” and a jolt of annoyance in the Force as Bookish elbows him in the ribs.

It’s a long walk from the Temple to 79’s, but it’s enjoyable. After our slightly awkward introduction, Oonara won’t stop talking. She tells me about her family back on Rodia, and her friends on Nal Hutta. The topic of slavery is a sensitive one, of course, and I’m not fully up-to-speed on her language, but we manage to keep a conversation. If I’m understanding her right, Senator Amidala’s offered her a job as a handmaiden. 

I look at her in confusion. “But…no offense, Oonara, but you don’t look like Senator Amidala at all. All her handmaidens look the same, and it would take an impressive wig and a lot of makeup to make you look like them.”

She looks at me and her antennae droop, and then they perk up again as she realizes my mistranslation. Ah, she’s going to work as a maid, not a handmaiden. Makes more sense.

I keep one eye in person and in the Force on the three troopers behind me, and they’re being unusually quiet – that’s a little bit worrying, but it could be worse. We’re almost to 79’s, and I bet they’ll get their good spirits back there, if only for tonight. Their emotional pain’ll sink back in tomorrow, along with a raging headache.

Oonara grips my arm tighter as we arrive at the landing platform in front of the famous clone bar, and for the first time this trip, our three troopers take the lead. They walk in front of us, scanning their ID’s at the door, and my status as a Jedi general (yuck I hate calling myself that) gets me and Oonara in without a hitch. The dance floor is crowded and the music is thumping as we fight our way through the crowd to a booth in the corner.

Ben and Oonara look around in awe at the vibrant atmosphere, and I nudge my new friend with a smile. “I bet it looks different than the Hutt palace, doesn’t it?”

I get as much of a smile as I can from a Rodian. “Yes, it’s much more enjoyable – much safer of an atmosphere, too.”

The five of us slide into our booth and take a minute to drink in the energetic feel of the club. Troopers are laughing, ladies are dancing, but the energy doesn’t seem to permeate our little bubble of depression in the corner. A pretty Twi’lek flashes me a grin, and I give her a half-hearted smile back. It feels like all I can manage.

The rowdy club seems to infuse some life into Ben, but Bookish still slumps in the corner of the booth with his head in his hands. I’m not much of a mind healer, but I can still try to do some good – he needs someone to talk to. Bingo and I share a conspiring look for the first time this evening, and he seems to understand what I’m going to try to do. He grabs Ben and Oonara and disappears into the crowd, promising to bring back drinks.

I shift down the bench to where Bookish sits and tilt my head down, trying to catch his gaze from under his hands. “Salt’s gonna be fine, I promise. There’s no finer medbay than the Halls of Healing anywhere in the galaxy. If anyone can fix him up, it’s Healer Che.” The words sound hollow compared to the pain I know he’s going through right now.

Bookish looks up at me from under his eyebrows. “I know. I should be optimistic, but…”

“It’s hard, I know. I felt like a failure leading that mission.”

“You didn’t make such a great first impression, that’s for sure, sir,” he adds with – finally! – a long-awaited smile. It makes me smile back, despite the fact that he could stand to be a little nicer. Still, it’s nice that the old Bookish is back.

“Tell me, how did Salt get his name?”

His smile grows even bigger. “Don’t tell anyone,” he warns. “He’ll jump out of that sickbed to fight you right then.”

“Not a soul.”

Bookish fingers the sugar packets sitting at the edge of the booth. “Everyone assumes it’s because of the surly attitude-”

“Salt, yeah, it makes sense-”

“But actually, it’s a lot dumber than that.” He looks up at me with a sideways smile on his face. “When we were cadets back on Kamino, our batch was always one of the highest performing squads, on average. We were all set to be promoted to ARC right away, but Salt blew it for us by always being a troublemaker. He’s amazing in battle, but he didn’t live up to the Kaminoans’ standards for soldier behavior.”

“And the salt…?”

“I’m getting there, sir-”

“- call me Ginia-”

“I’m getting there, sir, if you’ll give me a minute. There’s a reason my brothers and I can stomach those ration bars, sir, and it’s because we grew up eating equally bland food on Kamino.”

This is the longest I’ve ever heard Bookish talk, and I am loving every minute. It’s so nice to see him come outside of his comfort zone.

“Salt always liked to do everything he could to acquire the, ah, contraband items, if you will. Once he realized that, well, salt would improve the quality of the food we were given, he started collecting ocean water on our trips outside of the cloning factories and extracting the salt.”

“He started a black market for salt on Kamino? That’s wizard!” I exclaim as all the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. “Did the longnecks ever find out?”

Bookish sits up straighter in his side of the booth. “I might have had a hand in helping him keep his entrepreneurship under wraps.”

“Surely it’s against regs to hide a black-market salt operation?” I gasp with a dramatic hand to my chest.

“General, I know the regs backwards and forwards and nowhere does it say that I cannot help my brother season our food,” Bookish jokes – Bookish jokes – with an exaggerated long-suffering sigh. This is a whole different side of Bookish – and it’s a much more enjoyable and much more healthy side of the trooper than the side that sat in front of me and shut down out of worry for his brother.

“We’re ba-ack!” comes a singsong-y voice and three familiar figures step into the puddle of light from the bulb above our booth. They’re all gripping bottles of something that’ll get them messed up, and suddenly, this evening looks like it’s going to be a lot crazier. Oonara sloshes a bottle down on the table and tries to slide in beside me, but Bingo beats her to it, so she settles for squeezing on the other side of the booth with Bookish and Ben.

Bingo slides a glass my way. I look at him sideways, and he smiles back.

“Is this water or vodka?”

“Smell it and find out.”

I give it a tentative sniff and thank goodness it’s water. Drinking was never my cup of tea, and Bingo knows that – in fact, I prefer a cup of tea over just about anything.

“Moonshine for the shiny!” Bookish pats Ben on the head and slides a full bottle across the table to Ben, and I frown at them both.

“Ben, you don’t have to. Peer pressure is a dangerous motivator,” I caution with one hand covering the top of my drink and a warning glance at the shady-looking character hovering near our booth.

“Aw, General, come on. Just one sip?” he pleads, and kark, I can’t say no to those puppy eyes.

“Fine, but I’m not carrying you back to the barracks.”

We sip our respective drinks without talking for a while, reveling in the eardrum-bursting racket coming from the stage and the lights that twirl around the walls of the club. Oonara, who’s sat in uncustomary silence for a bit, knocks back the rest of her drink and stands up, looking at me.

“I’m gonna go dance. Anyone wanna come?”

I sigh and glance around at the three troopers. “She says she’s going to go dancing if anyone wants to join her.”

Ben, whose face is a little redder than I would like to see, looks at her with awe. “Will you teach me to dance? I bet you’re really good, seeing as how you used to work for the Hutts.”

I glare at him, and he cowers a little in his seat. He should know not to bring up the topic of slavery. “Oonara, Ben would love to go with you. Watch out for him, he’s a shiny,” I add in her language, and she nods with a knowing look. She grabs his arm as tightly as she grabbed mine (that must be a Rodian thing) and drags him onto the dancefloor.

Bookish looks at me and Bingo, who’s slowly working through a bottle of something, and sighs. “I’m going to go get another drink. I’ll be at the counter if you need anything.” He heaves himself out of the corner of the booth and is gone.

I finish my glass of water and tilt my head back against the top of the booth. Bingo shifts his position a bit to turn and face me. “Well, old pal,” I say as I close my eyes, “it’s just you and me.”

“Why are you closing your eyes?”

“Looking for Ben and Oonara.” I reach out in the Force through the swirling mass of dancing bodies and feel a sudden rush of nerves-adrenaline-owsomeonesteppedonmytoe. “Yeah, they’re doing fine.”

Bingo shifts back around in his seat (the booth squeaks) and spins his empty bottle lazily between two fingers. “So, ah, you wanna go dance? Seems like the kind of thing you’d like to do – you’re, um, talkative and fun and all that…”

I turn to him and wrinkle up my nose. “I don’t dance, sorry. Maybe go find Oonara? She’d dance with you.”

The bottle spins a bit faster. “I don’t want to dance with Oonara.”

“Then go find some civvie, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want a civvie.”

“Get Senator Amidala. You couldn’t stop fawning over her on that mission.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Go find Ben, for all I care. You’re wearing boots, it wouldn’t hurt when he steps on your toes.”

“Di’kut, I want to dance with you.”

My head falls back and makes a nasty thud against the back of the booth. The bottle drops from his hands and clatters on the table.

My vision’s blurry, but I sense a hand reaching out for my head and then retreating. A concerned face that I can’t quite place swims in my vision, but then I recognize the discolored markings around the right eye. “Why don’t you dance?” he asks.

“Really? Of all the things you could say, you wanna know why I don’t dance?” If he’s going to care about me, he might as well care about the knot on the back of my head. “I don’t dance because it’s not behavior becoming for a Jedi.”

“You worry a lot about being a perfect Jedi.”

“And look where it gets me! In a booth, in a club, with a tipsy trooper, and a huge bruise on the back of my head.”

“I bet that dancing would make it feel better.”

“I swear, if you don’t shut up, I will-”

“Dance with me?” He grabs my armpits (if he’s going for romance, it’s not working) and drags me out of the booth and backwards onto the dance floor. My head still aches, but my eyes are working well enough to see Bingo make a fool of himself on the dance floor.

I gesture to his widely waving arms. “This is why I don’t dance. What self-respecting Jedi does this?” The people all around me are moving to the thumping beat of the band, but I stand stiff as a rod with my arms folded.

Bingo yells to be heard over this racket. “Why do you try so hard to be perfect?”

Annoyance rolls off me into the Force, but there’s something else, another emotion there that I hadn’t even noticed before – fear? apprehension? anxiety? “If I’m not trying to be a perfect Jedi, then who am I trying to be?”

He grabs my hands and tries to get me to sway to the beat. “Be yourself!”

“Sorry, but I’m still trying to figure out who that is.”

His terrible dancing and my bad mood are clearing the crowd around us, and Bingo takes that opportunity to sling me around in a haphazard twirl. My robes fan out around myself, and for that one moment, as I spin on my toes around my first-ever friend, I let myself be free. Free of my duty, free of my responsibilities. But as the wild spin ends and I’m facing Bingo again, I decide.

“Thank you for buying me the drink, Bingo-”

“-Oh, please, it was just water-”

“But I must be going. Thank you, I had a lovely time,” and, just like a second skin, Jedi etiquette slides easily into our conversation as I incline my head in the traditional farewell. To a Jedi, feelings take second place to duty, and right now? My duty is to the Republic. To my younglings, to the Order, to my clone strike team. My duty is to Bingo as a general, not as a friend, or, Force forbid, anything more. 

Rigid beliefs, rigid saber forms, rigid pillars of the Jedi religion, I think as I grab a speeder to return to the Temple. There’s some comfort in the rigidity, but when will everything come tumbling down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dialogue....the cinematography.....
> 
> next up: Bingo, you guessed it. I need to switch things up a little, keep you all on your toes


	8. Chapter 8 (CT-8160, Bingo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Mace Windu And Ginia Go On A Life Changing Field Trip

“Well, Salt, if you’re healthy enough to come on this mission, I think you’re healthy enough to load these crates,” I say with a huff as I lean over to grab one of the last heavy boxes. “Ah, Ginia, what’s in these, anyway?”

The general’s standing a few feet away at the end of the Redeemer’s cargo ramp, her brow furrowed and her lip turned up as she floats one of the crates up the ramp into the cargo hold. I shouldn’t bother her – she always looks like that when she’s concentrating.

Ben pries off a lid and peers inside. “It’s cans of paint,” he lets us know with his head inside the box. “What do we need cans of paint for?”

Bookish flips through a few lenses on his bucket and scans the crates. “There’s a lot of paint, and it’s all different colors. I’m scanning shipping logs for star destroyers right now, and it looks like paint’s rarely stocked on GAR ships.”

Salt flops down on a crate and props up his leg. “You didn’t answer the shiny’s question, Bookish,” he points out.

Ben pulls his head out of the crate, and the poor kid looks put out. “Hey, knock it off,” I say with a slap to the back of Salt’s head. “I don’t think that being covered in Nal Hutta mud makes his armor very shiny anymore.”

Salt rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

Bookish pulls off his helmet. “Maybe this di’kut here is a lover boy, but,” and he jerks his head at Ginia, “she’s anything but a lover girl. She hasn’t talked to you since 79’s the other night.”

Salt’s jaw drops. “You went to 79’s without me?”

I ignore him. Bookish is right, as always. Ginia hasn’t talked to me since the other night. Well, she briefed me on our newest mission, and she commed me to alert me that Salt was feeling well enough to join our squadron again, but we haven’t talked as friends in what seems like forever. I wasn’t that tipsy, and I think I remember everything that happened, but I can’t stop thinking that maybe I severely overstepped my superior officer’s boundaries. If I did something creepy, then she has every right to ignore me. Even if it hurts a little bit.

“Ah, lover’s quarrel,” Salt intones dramatically, and then almost falls off his crate. “Hey, this is a restricted zone. What’s that shuttle doing?”

The four of us turn around as a small GAR shuttle pulls up to the dock beside the Redeemer and the doors hiss open. 

“More crates to carry?” I wonder.

“Diamond’s replacement,” Bookish assures us.

But it’s neither. A green body that’s all legs dashes out of the shuttle and over to Ginia, enveloping her in a big hug. Oh good, Oonara’s coming with us – she’ll be a laugh, if the general feels like translating. 

But she’s not the only person that exits the shuttle, although this next person does so with a lot less…frivolity. I may not see much combat, but I read mission reports – and if mission reports were made public, well, he’d be even more of a galactic celebrity.

“What’s General Windu doing here?”

Ginia’s face is buried in Oonara’s shoulder, but she must sense General Windu somehow, because her crates fall to the ground with a clank. We watch as she brushes herself off and folds her hands in her sleeves, inclining her head in what I’m pretty sure is a traditional Jedi greeting.

They talk for a minute, and then we’re beckoned over to gear up and get on board our ship. As my brothers and I walk up the ship’s ramp, I send Ginia a questioning look, one that usually would get me a silly face back. The general just looks stoically ahead. Bookish elbows me in the ribs.

[comm channel opened]

Bingo: Bookish please don’t make a habit of doing that

Bookish: I’ll elbow you every time you deserve it, di’kut.

As soon as we’re in the air and off Coruscant, General Windu clears his throat and turns to face our motley crew: Ginia, four troopers, and one random Rodian. I really wish I knew what was going through his head right now.

“Good afternoon, troopers.”

We just stare at him.

“My name is General Mace Windu of the Grand Army of the Republic. I have been assigned to supervise your squadron on this mission. I trust that your general has found the time to brief you on your mission?”

Ginia’s lips are a thin line. “Yes, master, my men have been briefed.”

Yeah, we were. It was a little awkward, because Ginia and I aren’t speaking and Salt had just come out from under anesthesia, but we were briefed. If I remember right, we’re going to the planet Corellia to infiltrate a high society party and bust a slave trade. Seems pretty straightforward, but I know after just one mission with a Jedi that things are never as straightforward as they seem.

High society party – I wonder if the general will have to dance to pull this stunt off. Kriff, I wonder if General Windu will have to dance. I’m glad my helmet hides my smile, but-

“What’s so funny, trooper?” General Windu snaps with a long-suffering glance in my direction.

“Ah, nothing, sir. Nothing at all.” I don’t miss the quick look that Ginia shoots in my direction. 

“It better be nothing. Pilot, set a course for the planet Ilum. I’ll be in my quarters, don’t disturb me.” General Windu’s long robes swirl around him as he turns around and heads for the door. Ilum? I’ve never heard of it. Maybe we got briefed on the wrong mission…?

“Ilum?” Ginia almost jumps out of her chair and rushes over to General Windu. “Master, does this mean…?”

Us troopers and Oonara exchange a look. Sure, we can’t really communicate, but I’m sure as kark we all want to know what’s happening on Ilum – we’re on this mission too, we should have been briefed on this!

“Yes, Knight. You’ll need a lightsaber to successfully complete a mission, will you not? Here,” General Windu reaches into his robes and tosses Ginia the hilt of a small saber. “Training saber. I want you in the sparring room working on your saber forms until oh-ten-hundred.”

“But-”

“Kenobi’s orders. Get to work, Knight.” With that, the general turns and leaves the bridge.

“~ I want you in the sparring room working on your saber forms until oh-ten-hundred. ~” Ginia mocks with a scrunched nose and a stuck-out jaw, and I smile beneath my helmet – it’s nice to see a glimpse of the Ginia I know. “So long, troopers. Report to the bridge again when we reach Ilum’s surface.”

And the new Ginia makes an appearance again. She walks out the door the same way General Windu did, with purpose.

Salt: I forgot we still had these comm channels

Salt: anyway, go get her bingo

Salt: lover boy

Bookish hesitates for a minute, and then elbows me in the ribs again. Well, I’m not sure whether he’s agreeing with Salt or warning me against breaking regs, but frankly, I don’t care. I need to talk to Ginia.

I half-jog down the hall until I catch up with Ginia on her way to the training room. I half expect her to turn around when she senses me coming up behind her, but she just keeps on walking. I grab her forearm, and finally she turns around.

“I’ve got training to do, you heard Master Windu.”

“Why aren’t you talking to me?”

She wrenches her arm out of my grasp and keeps on walking. I hurry after her like one of those kittens in Ben’s never-ending supply of Loth-cat videos.

“Ginia, look at me. You don’t have to tell me everything, but let me know – did I do something wrong at 79’s?”

She wheels around and looks at me, confused. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah, you know. Like, did I…um…overstep my boundaries? Did something happen that’s, ah…”

“Against regs?” she fills in with a hint of a smile. “You’ve been spending too much time around Bookish.”

“Please, you don’t have to talk to me anymore if you don’t want to, but I need to know if I hurt you.” 

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. Don’t worry,” she says, and her head drops a little bit. “It’s all on me. Let me handle this – it’s my problem.”

I reach out and place a hesitant hand on her forearm. “Not to be sappy, but if it’s a problem, we can deal with it together.”

She shakes her head a little too quickly, and there’s something there that she’s not telling me. “Don’t worry about it.” An awkward silence falls between us. 

“Well,” Ginia starts with an obviously forced grin, “I’ve got some training to do.” She shifts the training saber from one hand to another. “I suppose I’ll see you on deck when we reach Ilum?”

“See you then.”

Here are a few interesting facts that I learned during our time on Ilum:

Ilum is really cold. Like, a creeps-underneath-plastoid, freeze-your-shebs-off type cold.

A hot shower with your water ration is a great way to warm yourself up!

Rodians don’t deal well with the cold at all, and apparently lurking in a steamy bathroom is a great way for them to stay warm.

And number four: don’t pull back the shower curtain all the way without checking to see if a female Rodian happens to be in your bathroom enjoying the humid atmosphere.

Yeah, I bet this is just what life is like back on Rodia.

Oonara and I end up walking from the bunkroom back to the bridge together, which, if we could communicate, would be an awkward trip. I’m going to have to ask Bookish if he can install a translator program in our buckets, because it sure would be nice to be able to talk with this unofficial member of our team. If only the general wasn’t down in those caves – I bet that she’d clear up this embarrassing mess; she’s good at that. 

I wish that we could clear up the misunderstanding between the two of us.

The blast doors to the bridge hiss open, and I’m struck by the swirling emptiness visible out the window that just seems to go on forever. I don’t know how Ginia and General Windu are navigating through the caves in this terrible weather, but I hope that they’re okay.

“Bookish, Salt, what are you doing?”

The two brothers are huddled around a tracking device, watching the blinking dots intently. Bookish’s got what looks like a holomap of Ilum projected in front of him, and he and Salt are constantly comparing the map to the tracking device.

“Did you…” I start to ask, worried of the answer I’ll receive.

“Did we slip a tracking device onto the general as she went down onto that freezing cold nightmare planet?” Salt asks. “Yes, of course we did. She watches our back, we watch hers.”

Oonara sits down beside them and picks up Salt’s helmet that’s lying on the floor. It’s a little big to fit over her head, but she slides it on anyway. Bookish keeps studying the tracker, but Salt and I look sideways at each other as we watch Oonara flip through the helmet’s settings. Everyone’s quiet for a bit, concentrating on something or another. And then – 

“They’re coming back!”  
“Can you understand me?”

I jump up and run over to look over Bookish’s shoulder at the tracker, and Salt grabs his bucket off Oonara’s head. “You added a translator in this thing?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

Oonara grabs Bookish’s helmet off the floor and slips it on. “I installed a translator in all of your helmets,” she explains, her voice coming out surprisingly soft and musical through the audio transmitters. “I can modify a comm unit for myself, and then we can all communicate!”

I shoot her a smile that I hope she can see through the helmet’s view panel. “That’s long overdue. It’ll be nice to give Ginia a break from translating.”

“Speaking of the general,” Bookish breaks in. “It looks like she and General Windu are right outside the ship.”

I run to the huge window and wipe off some of the condensation that’s formed from the cold, and all four of us crowd around the small patch to peer outside the ship. It takes a minute, but eventually two small figures appear through the swirling snowstorm. Oonara’s sticky fingers press up against the glass, and I’m pretty sure that Salt’s nose is gonna leave a smear, but our eyes are glued to the scene outside the window.

One deep purple line of light appears, and we can almost see the falling snow steam upon contact with the hot blade.

Next to it, a hand holds out a saber’s hilt, and even in the middle of a snowstorm, we can make out the hand turning it on, and a pale pink saber, almost the color of the snow, springs to life for the very first time.

Oonara grabs my helmet and rams it on her head. “Can the swords of light be colored pink? I’ve only ever seen the green and the red before.” It’s so unusual to be able to understand her, even through a translation program.

I rub my head. “Well, green and blue are the most common, but I’ve read about other colors, too. And people with red lightsabers, well, those are the people that my brothers and I were bred to fight against.”

My helmet nods, and green fingers remove it and place it back on my head.

“What are you all looking at?”

Everyone’s gaze turns from the window to two soggy Jedi dripping at the door to the bridge. I smile. “I think you mean, what are y’all looking at,” I tease as Ginia drops into a chair and wrings out the hem of her robes. “I guess you got a new lightsaber?”

Ginia’s grin grows wider, and she reaches into the inside of her robes to pull out a saber hilt. “Designed it myself,” she replies, and she grabs the saber with two hands. Everyone in the room watches in awe as a pale line of light streams from the hilt, bathing everyone on deck with a pink wash.

General Windu looks down at Ginia, and is that – approval? – in his expression? “To craft a new saber is a great accomplishment,” he says, and Ginia beams. “To wield it successfully is a whole different beast. I expect to see you in the training room at oh-seventeen-hundred. Pilot, set a course for Corellia.”

Ginia throws her head back against the chair with General Windu’s proclamation, but straightens up again, a smile on her face. “Paint!” she squeals, turning her saber off and stowing it on her waist. “I almost forgot!”

Salt leans back in his chair, studying the general intently. “What’re all the crates of paint for? Those were a pain to carry, you know.”

I scoff and slap him on the back of the head. “Yeah, like you helped carry them, CT I-should-be-in-medbay-right-now.”

Ginia hops out of her chair and grabs my helmet off my head. “Paint for your armor, of course!” she exclaims, her thumbs running over the mottled paint patterns on my helmet. I’m itching to reach out and grab my helmet back to cover my face, but I’ll be patient. She continues, “Now that we’re a true squadron, shouldn’t your armor all be the same color? And what better color than your general’s new lightsaber?”

Bookish’s eyebrows fly up his head. “Pink armor? I don’t know how I feel about that, sir.”

“Come on, Bookish, it’ll be fun!”

Everyone looks to the door as a gold-armored trooper laden with datapads appears in the doorway. “Pink armor’s fine with me,” continues Ben. “Let’s go paint and have a chat. I did some research that you all should hear about.”

“You know, Bingo,” Oonara wonders as she dips a brush into the paint can. She’s speaking into a comm unit that Bookish modified specially for her. “The previous painting on your helmet did not fully capture the beauty of the unusual coloration on your face.”

I shrug as I lean across Bookish to grab a rag. “It’s ugly anyway, who cares if it’s realistic?”

Oonara looks pensive. “Perhaps, but they’re quite unique. Might I try my hand at recreating them on your helmet?” 

Salt tugs the rag from me and wipes the blue paint off his shoulder armor. “Go for it, Oonara. It’s not like Bingo was a great artist anyway, and I think that his markings are cool.” I glance at Ginia, who’s practicing saber katas in the corner, to see if she feels like talking to me again. She only shrugs and replies, “I never said they were ugly – don’t bring me into this.”

“Ah, do whatever you want, Oonara,” I decide as I scrub red paint off my chestplate. “Just hurry up so I can put my helmet back on.”

Ben twirls his paintbrush between his fingers as he studies a datapad. “Can we get back on topic here? We were talking about the galactic slave trade…”

We hear Ginia’s saber buzz off, and she walks over to sit next to Oonara. “I’m pretty sure that the Jedi used to be really active in preventing slavery, but during the war, we’ve forgotten a lot of our old duties. The battles take precedent,” she explains, and the remorse is evident in her voice.

Ben nods. “Exactly. According to what I read, there hasn’t been any real attack on slavery since the war started, so it’s had a lot of time to flourish during the Clone War.”

Bookish taps his brush against his temple. “Except for that one mission on Kiros a little while back. You remember that one, Salt?”

Salt huffs. “How could I forget? Not every day that a whole planet full of people disappear, and three Jedi somehow manage to find them. Kriff, what I wouldn’t give to be back in the 501st.”

“Shut up and scrub that nasty blue off your armor,” Ginia teases as she flicks some pink paint at him.

A light bulb goes off in my head. “I remember reading about that one! Didn’t General Skywalker and General Kenobi bust the Zygerrian slave empire?” I’d stayed up all night reading that mission report – it was one of the most interesting ones I had access to.

Ben nods. “That’s one of the only times during this whole war that slavery’s been targeted, but one attack doesn’t bring a whole slave empire to its knees. Slavery’s a business that earns you a fortune-”

“-at the price of people’s lives,” Ginia adds, and she fingers her saber. “And here on Corellia, we’re going to attack that business again. All of us. We’ve each got our own bone to pick with slavery, it seems like.”

Oonara nods, and her expression is the fiercest I’ve ever seen. “I will do anything in my power to keep my fellow women from being forced to experience similar suffering to me. No one should have to go through that type of pain.”

Salt and Bookish look at each other, then back at us. “Commander Tano always remarked how civvies view us brothers as slaves of the Republic,” Bookish begins.

“And indeed, it is your duty to prove yourself equals and - metaphorically - release yourself from that bondage,” Oonara finishes. She stands up and hands me back my helmet, and I’m stunned by the quality of the painting covering the smooth plastoid surface. I don’t get the chance to look in a mirror often, but this artwork – it’s funny to be referring to an interpretation of my biggest insecurity as artwork – is incredibly realistic.

The ex-slave, but more importantly, our friend, reaches down to Ginia and hauls her up off the ground. Oonara looks down at the general and the general looks back up, their camaraderie and bravery evident on their faces – such different faces, but so alike in their determination.

“General, are you aware why Senator Amidala assigned me on this mission?” Oonara twirls a strand of Ginia’s hair around her finger. I guess hair’s pretty exciting if you don’t have any.

“I don’t even want to guess…”

“Because, according to the plan, you require a maid to assist you in your transformation into a lady of high society,” Oonara finishes with a cheeky tug at Ginia’s hair. The general scowls.

“Yeah, yeah, of course Senator Amidala would say that - but plans can change. All right, let’s go. Troopers –” she pauses and looks at the rest of us – no, she sees the rest of us – “see you on Corellia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! once again, a chapter that does little to advance the plot. I promise the next one will be better
> 
> next up: I'm not telling you this time. take a guess
> 
> WHY WILL AO3 NOT LET ME PUT ITALICS IN THIS STORY


	9. Chapter 9 (Jedi General Mace Windu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Mace Windu Bemoans the 403rd's Lack Of Common Sense (Except For Oonara)

“Bookish! Stop elbowing me!”

“Ben, those are my robes you’re stepping on…”

“E chu ta!”

Finally, the Rodian adds her two credits. What a motley crew for a stealth mission - Shaak Ti’s struggling ex-padawan, two of Skywalker’s menaces, Kenobi’s shiny, a member of the Coruscanti Guard, and a slave girl. It’s funny - the slave girl has the most sense out of all of these buffoons.

I wheel around with a finger on my lips. “Must I remind you that we are supposed to sneak in unnoticed?” I’m met with blank stares from four pink helmets.

“Um, Master, most of us have never been on a stealth mission before,” comes a voice from the back of our squad, and I see Ginia’s head peer over the top of the line of helmets. 

I sigh. “Trust me, I know. Keep watching our backs, and I’ll handle our front.” My saber hisses to life, and a pink glow out of the corner of my eye tells me that Ginia’s done the same. Hopefully this mission will serve as good saber practice for her.

The shadows of Corellia’s dismal buildings cover us as, inch by inch, we make our way down the empty streets. Our sabers provide some light, but the darkness seems to snuff out all the light. Corellia’s a lawless place.

“Any word on our location, trooper?” I whisper as we duck into an abandoned alley.

The trooper - Bookish - flips through lenses on his helmet, and the Rodian - Oonara, I believe - taps frantically on her wristband. “No communications from the Redeemer, General,” the trooper explains, “but I do have a signal for our location. We’re -”

“We’re around half a klick from the location of the party,” Oonara’s comm translates for us. 

“Good work. Let’s get going.”

The rest of our trip through the dark Corellian streets takes a short time, and soon enough we’re ducking into the shadows of the brightest, cleanest building I’ve seen yet - but that’s not saying much on Corellia.

Ginia confers with Bookish and Oonara and then waves me over. “These two geniuses’ tech make me pretty sure that we’re in the right spot. The slaves should be in this building somewhere above the party.” Her sincerity leaks into the way she talks.

“It took you the tech to figure that out?”

“Well, I guess that this is where that party’s happening - there are neon lights, and expensive speeders, and loud music from inside, and-”

“And an overwhelming sense of sorrow from the upper levels of the building. Feel it?”

Ginia sighs and fiddles with the ties on her robes. “Yes Master, I feel it.”

One of the troopers, the one with the strange paintings on his helmet, walks down the expanse of wall and knocks a few times. He pauses, and then waves us over.

“I think that there’s an elevator shaft here that we can enter through, General.” The neon lights above him cast a blue glow on his helmet.

I look at him sideways. “How do you know this?”

“Because I had to sleep in a broken elevator in the Senate building. Believe me, I know what an empty elevator shaft sounds like.” 

Ginia looks at him with her mouth wide open. “You slept in an abandoned elevator?”

“I’m going to take that as a complement.” 

If I could see that trooper’s face, I think he’d be blushing. “Back to the matter at hand,” I interject with a look in Ginia’s direction. “Get ready to cut.”

I grab my saber from my belt and plunge it into the section of the wall where the trooper - Bingo - had knocked. The durasteel is particularly thick, and my saber moves slowly through the bubbling metal. “Knight, you have a lightsaber, do you not?”

Ginia jumps and slides her saber into the durasteel next to mine. “Are we breaking and entering?” she huffs.

We’ve cut through only half of a circle when we feel a finger tap our shoulders. “Generals,” comes a flat voice from a comm unit, “you’ve got bigger problems than breaking and entering.” Bookish runs over with a livestream holovid of a blinking red box moving down, down, down. 

Ginia gulps. “Is that…”

“The elevator coming our way? You shouldn’t have expected anything else, Knight. Keep cutting.”

I slip my saber back on my belt and thrust my hands up into the air, feeling the Force move with my push. The elevator’s rushing down towards Ginia’s lopsided circle, and it takes all my strength to fight downwards mechanical force with upwards Force. 

One of the troopers emerges from the shadows and stands by my side. “General? Are you all right?”

“Ben, isn’t it? Yes trooper, I’m fine. Let’s try something else.”

The Force shifts as my right hand moves up in the air, manipulating the Force around the elevator. My left hand keeps the upwards Force against the elevator, but my right hand searches for the lift mechanics. I close my eyes, and I can almost visualise the inner workings of the lift; a wave of my hand, and the elevator’s gears slam to a halt the same time that Ginia’s circle falls to the ground.

The last trooper - Salt, I think - sticks his head in the hole, and there’s a faint whistle from his helmet. “If the lift had travelled further down, you’d have cut a hole in the elevator, General,” he says.

Ginia brushes herself off and snaps her saber back on her belt. “It’s a bit of a lopsided circle…”

Bingo pats her on the shoulder and crawls in after Salt. “It’s, ah, very functional.”

The rest of us file in, and I reach out in the Force to get a sense of our new surroundings. The elevator above us is empty, and the shaft seems to extend some distance up. It’s cramped under the elevator, and I can barely stand up. The Rodian has to squat.   
“Um, Master, I’ve been practicing my vertical saber cutting, if I may?” She’s got one hand on her saber, and it’s obvious she’s trying her hardest to make this mission a success.

“Yeah, we’ve got holes all over our barracks’ ceiling,” someone adds, and the Rodian tries to hide a laugh.

Ginia slaps someone’s helmet and ignites her saber, plunging it into the floor of the elevator above us. A jump and a spin, and a perfect circle of steaming durasteel crashes to the floor.

“Don’t you think that leaving holes everywhere kind of gives away our position?” Salt asks as he clambers into the elevator.

I shake my head and help Ben up. “No, trooper. Stay focused, Ginia.”

She scrunches her nose and concentrates on floating Bingo up beside her. “I am focused.”

Once we’re all in the elevator, Ginia jumps and spins again, and a second perfect circle falls down to meet the first. We clamber up onto the roof of the elevator, and I hear the Rodian gasp at the sheer height of the elevator shaft. It’s easily twice the height of what I expected, and it’s not going to be easy to scale. Ginia’s squadron starts to murmur. 

“Aren’t you glad that we changed the plan and didn’t end up infiltrating the party? Imagine doing this in fancy clothes.”

“Imagine doing this in robes - I’m sure glad I have plastoid.”

“Imagine looking exactly like all 120,000 of your siblings.”

“At least I have siblings!”

I pinch the top of my nose and breath out, hard. “Can we focus? Troopers, ready your grappling guns.”

The clone next to me - I think it’s Salt - grabs his blaster attachment from his hip. “Grappling guns? That’s a good idea, General.”

Bookish elbows him. “That’s why he’s the general and not you, di’kut.”

Salt preps his gun and aims it roughly at the ceiling. “It’s dark, and my night-vision filter isn’t working. This should be good enough.”

I look at him sideways. “Do you trust ‘good enough’?”

His finger rests on the trigger. “I do if you do.”

I grab the gap in between his blacks and the top of his back plate as he pulls the trigger, and I hear the grappling attachment lock on to something. A moment later, we’re pulled off our feet. As we reach the end of our rope, the blaster locks with the grappling attachment and our feet find their way onto a small ledge.

“Good enough was good enough,” Salt says with a smug smile. 

“We have no idea where we are, trooper.”

There’s a click as another grappling attachment locks beside us, and a laugh as Bookish and Oonara fly up the shaft. Salt helps his batchmate onto the ledge. 

“Ben coming?”

Bookish sets Oonara down. “Bingo’s teaching him how to use one of these.”

“Bingo know how to use it?”

“That...remains to be seen.”

Another click, and a trooper that has to be Ben lands on his feet beside us. “That was fun!”

I stare down the shaft into darkness. “Where’s the other trooper and the Knight?”

Ben shrugs and spins his blaster on one finger. “They said they were coming.”

There’s a click and a thunk, and a plastoid boot stomps. I can see Bookish and Salt exchange a look out of the corner of my eye, and Ben folds his hands behind his back and looks at the ceiling. 

“You said you knew how to use this thing!” Ginia’s voice echoes up the shaft as we hear Bingo trying to reload his grappling attachment.

“Ah, when it works! Here, grab on.” 

I pause, then grab Salt and Ben. “Look out!”

A grappling hook careens through the air and perches on a ledge right above us, right where Ben’s head would have been. It’s not a sturdy perch at all.

A metallic clang echoes throughout the elevator shaft, and I fold my arms against my chest. They’ll turn up any day now…

“Ginia! My codpiece!” There’s a clickclickclick as what is unmistakably plastoid hits the floor of the elevator shaft. 

“Not my fault that we swung into the wall!”

“You kicked it and knocked it loose! That’s twice now!”

“Oh, who’s counting?”

I reach out with the Force, and the white plastoid rushes up into my hand. “They argue like an old married couple,” I remark, and Salt sniggers.

“Give it a couple years and they will be.”

Huh. Interesting.

The five of us on the ledge lean to one side as Ginia and Bingo finally plant their feet on solid ground. Bingo crosses his arms and turns to Ginia. “Get it.”

“Not to worry, trooper, I’ve got it,” I say with a wry smile. Bingo grabs his codpiece with a salute to me and punches Ginia’s arm. Bookish and Oonara have been scanning the area with their tech, and Oonara’s running her fingers along the wall - feeling for something, perhaps.

“Here it is,” comes her automated comm voice. “We’re standing on a ledge directly above a set of elevator doors. Get those open, and we can locate the slaves easily.”

“Good work. You and Bookish get those open. Rest of you, prep your weapons. There’s trouble ahead.”

Ginia’s shaking a bit as she palms her lightsaber, but after a few calming breaths, she seems all right. Say what you will about Ginia’s combat skills, but Shaak Ti’s instilled a love of meditation in her protegee.

There’s a tap and a beep, and I can hear the doors below us hiss open. Ginia flips over and pokes her head under the ledge.

“All clear,” she whispers. “Come on.”

The rest of us grab the ledge and flip over, but Oonara needs a little help from Bookish to land on her feet. We’re finally inside the building (that took a while), and the plush carpet and panelled walls are a stark contrast from the building’s dingy exterior. Our footprints imprint and then disappear into the thick carpet as we sneak down the wall and into a closet.

Bookish flips through lenses on his helmet. “According to the intelligence, we’re in the right spot, but our spies neglected to mention which floor of the building the slaves are being held on.”

Salt nods. “I think we all heard the party downstairs, but it’s anyone’s guess where the slaves are.”

Oonara and Ginia share a look. “We know that Zygerrians are holding them hostage until the sale,” Ginia begins.

“Follow the stench and you’ll find the slavers,” Oonara finishes. “I’ll get a trace on Zygerrian fur in these halls.”

Huh. I’m impressed. This girl would be unstoppable if she had the Force.

A few taps of her wrist unit and Oonara’s tracing a path of shed Zygerrian fur for us to track. We duck out of the closet and follow her down the hall. We fall into line: Oonara and I leading the way, Salt and Bookish closely behind, Ben and Bingo behind them, and Ginia bringing up the rear. I motion for Oonara to keep going and fall back behind to walk with Ginia.

“Do you feel it?” she asks. Her eyes are big, and I can see a semblance of my old padawan in her face. Force, I miss having a student.

“Feel what, Knight?”

“The pain, the suffering...I think that we’re getting close.”

I nod my head and grab my lightsaber. “Zygerrians are not easily defeated. Keep your wits about you.”

Oonara grinds to a halt in front of an utterly plain door. “It looks like we were on the right floor after all. The trail of fur stops here.”

“I’ll take care of the lock,” Bookish announces, and he squats down to fiddle with the door jam. A couple seconds later, we’re in. Not a moment too soon, because Zygerrian footsteps and a foul stench appear from around the corner. The seven of us press ourselves into the shadows, and the door opens and closes without a confrontation.

“They didn’t even know we’re here!” Ben whispers as we move down the wall, single file, barely breathing

“Don’t count on that,” I reply darkly. “Be wary. And,” I glance at Ginia, “Bingo, stick close to the Knight.”

Ginia looks affronted, but keeps inching down the wall. “I can protect myself! I think.”

“I think this trooper might need some protecting. Make sure all his armor stays intact.”

Bingo’s frustration is almost tangible, but we need to keep moving. No time to dwell on the rare joke. We slide into a large room; crates line the walls, and the Force feels heavy with despair. We’re in the right place - finally.

Ginia ignites her saber, and a pink glow illuminates our corner of the room. “We did it!”

“We haven’t done it yet. We’ve still got to get them onto the Redeemer,” Bookish reminds her, and her face falls.

I watch as Salt and Bingo fall into step behind Ginia as she walks towards the nearest crate. 

Something’s not right.

She waves her hand over the lock, and the door creaks open.

I ignite my saber.

The door flies open and catches Salt straight in the face, and a Zygerrian puts down his filthy foot from kicking the crate open. Nine more slavers step down into the light of Ginia’s saber to join him.

“Nice one, R’kar,” one leers. Two of them ignite their plasma whips.

The Force lies heavy as Ginia glares back at the slavers.

Surprisingly, she strikes first. 

Her blade connects with the hilt of R’kar’s whip, and I’m a little shocked that she didn’t take a few fingers off. The last clear noise I hear before charging into the fray is Bingo prepping his blaster. 

The Zygerrians are formidable opponents, but they’re beatable. There’s three on me now, dodging my strikes and lashing out with their whips. A well-aimed kick takes two of them out, but they’re persistent, too. As they recover, I glance over to Ginia. 

Her strokes are precise and well-timed, but she’s not adapting to the constantly changing situation. Her feet are planted too firmly, her hands choke up on the saber. Keep it up, and she’ll be in R’kar’s custody by the minute.

“Loosen up!” I yell as I drive my saber into one of the slaver’s forearms. She doesn’t look up, but her weight shifts onto the balls of her feet, and her death grip on the saber relaxes a little. 

A panicked yell from behind me reminds me of our troopers, and I wheel around while parrying hits from the plasma whips. One of the Zygerrians laces his whip around Bookish’s arm, and Bookish sinks to the floor, electricity crackling. I summon the Force to push back my two remaining opponents and leap over Bookish’s head. One quick slice, and a matted, furry arm lands on the floor. 

“Thanks, General.”

“Up and back to battle, trooper. Need I remind you that we’ve got slaves to free?”

Ginia and Bingo are back to back, parrying strokes and firing shots as R’kar and three of his friends prowl around them. Bookish runs to Salt while firing at the other Zygerrians that hadn’t joined in the fun yet. Everyone’s present and accounted for. My two remaining opponents launch themselves at me, and the fighting continues. 

I only catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye - there’s two figures scaling the crates on the way to the ceiling. Zygerrians? 

No, I realize as I take off a hand with yellowed fingernails, that’s Ben and Oonara.

I turn on my final opponent and trust in the Force that they’re doing something useful. 

This Zygerrian lashes out quicker than the other two, and I’m forced to shift from offense to defense. I manage a quick look over at Ginia, and she’s on defense, too. Granted, she’s always on defense, but our situation is looking a little more desperate.

As I block a powerful crack of the whip, the room goes pitch-black. A second later, the sprinkler system kicks in. We’re now fighting in the dark, in the rain, yet what has to be Ben and Oonara in the vents has completely changed the playing field in our favor. 

After all, Zygerrians don’t have the Force to guide them.

I switch off my lightsaber and stalk through the rain, reaching out for any sense of Zygerrian filth. Ginia’s form disappears into the dark as she switches off her saber, and suddenly we have a chance at freeing these slaves. The two of us can sense these slavers. The Zygerrians can switch off their plasma whips, but they can’t switch off their life force.

Unless, of course, we kill them.

The sound of four blasters being cocked echoes through the dark, wet room, and all is silent. Then, it comes.

I time my spin perfectly to catch the Zygerrian jumping at my back. His arm lands with a splash on the floor.

A pink stripe lights up the room as Ginia attacks another one. Five down, five to go. Thankfully, the troopers are smarter than to fire blindly.

The Force prickles down my spine, and I leap to catch a Zygerrian skulking behind a crate. One quick swipe, and we’re down to four.

Two quick flashes of pink tell me that Ginia’s taken down two, and I can sense that R’kar is still around here somewhere. I follow the pink flashes over to Ginia, and I find her arm in arm with the three troopers that aren’t in the vents. 

“Care to explain why you’re, quite literally, attached at the hip?”

“They can’t see, so we hold onto each other,” she responds.

“It’s not efficient. You’ll be quicker without them.”

“We stick together.” It’s final.

The five of us form a circle facing outwards, ready for R’kar and his accomplice. The expected prickle from the Force never comes - I’d describe it as an electric shock.

There’s a ringing clang and a splash as crates’ doors slide to the ground, and the heavy feeling of despair increases tenfold. One by one, plasma whips spring to life inside open crates as far as we can see, and their gold glow illuminates the snarls on what has to be a hundred Zygerrian faces. I can feel Ginia’s fear in the Force, and for once, it’s understandable.

“Jedi scum.” R’kar’s gravelly voice rings through the miserable room. “Fallen right into our trap. Isn’t that right, boys?”

A hundred warriors growl, and a hundred plasma whips crack. The Zygerrians’ crates amplify the ominous sound.

“The slaves are in the back. You wanna see them?” He takes a step towards Ginia and snarls. “You wanna see them before you die?”

The slaves deserve a new life. This squadron has five highly trained warriors - and Ginia and Oonara. But as thrilling as this victory would be, it’s a victory we can’t achieve. The cards are stacked against us.

“Ginia, we’ve got to go. This is a battle we cannot win.”

She sticks out her jaw. “I’m not going. These people need our help.”

Bingo hesitates, then lets go of her hand and grabs his blaster. “If our general’s not scared, then I’m not scared.” I see Bookish and Salt mirror his actions.

I clip my lightsaber on my belt and fold my arms, keeping a wary eye on R’kar. “I am your General, and you will follow my orders. Out that door, trooper.”

Bingo stomps his foot in the water that’s built up on the floor. “With all due respect, sir, you’re a general, but you’re not our general.”

R’kar takes another step towards us, his whip sizzling in the water from the sprinkler system. 

Ginia draws her weapon and bounces on the balls of her feet.

I watch as a grappling attachment shoots down from the ceiling vent shaft and lands with a splash. I follow it up to find pink plastoid visible through the grate.

“Come on, men!” I yell as the downpour from the ceiling becomes heavier. “Grab on!”

No one joins me. Ginia and her soldiers line up, five dedicated people against a hundred warriors. Her blade hisses in the torrent of rain.

“I guess we’ll do this the hard way,” I mutter, and I motion for Ben to pull me back up. The vent shaft is dry, but it’s already crowded. In the grand scheme of things, a few more people won’t hurt, and it’ll be easier to escape the building from the vents. 

“General! I’m glad to see that you decided to join us in the vents,” Oonara’s comm translates. 

“Good work deciding to cut the power and trigger the sprinklers, Oonara,” I remark as I stare down at the five idiots below me. “I think you’re the only one in the 403rd with any common sense.”

I wave Ben and Oonara out of the way and close my eyes, harnessing the power of the Force that’s throbbing around the tense room. I reach out my hand and pull, and the five bodies start to rise. Ginia’s cursing; I would have thought Shaak Ti would have taught her better manners than that.

R’kar’s snarl is visible even from the vents, and the crack of his whip as it snakes around Bingo’s leg is audible even through the sound of the pouring rain. Ginia’s mouth opens in what can only be a scream as she flips over to reach his hand, but it’s wet and slips out of her grasp. I press my eyes further closed as I continue to pull four of them up with my left, and my right reaches out. With one flick of my wrist, R’kar is on his back and Bingo continues his trip upwards.

Armored hands grasp the grate, and I lift it out of the way to pull our five heroes into the vent system. Ginia’s shuddering, but I can’t tell if it’s from cold, fear, or anger.

Oonara takes a deep breath. “All right, we’re all in the vent system. Let’s regroup and make our next move.”

“I admire your spirit,” I respond, “but our next move is to get back on the Redeemer and head for Coruscant. I’m not one to back down from a fight, but at least I’m reasonable about the fights I pick. The seven of you are insane.”

Ben radiates shock. “We pulled you - we pulled you up to form a strategy, not run away! These people need our help.”

“And how can we help them if we are dead? We must live to fight another day.”

Ginia finally speaks up. “Another day’s fight will be against mindless droids for control of what the Senate deems a crucial planet. How many more opportunities to do real good will we blunder?”

“Watch your tone, Knight. Follow me.”

I crawl a couple feet down the vent shaft until I realize that no one’s following me. I turn around. “Do you all want to get killed?”

Ginia looks me dead in the eye. “I thought that a Jedi was not supposed to fear death.”

“Yet they are not supposed to run headlong into it!”

Ben looks through the grate at the mass of warriors down below. “You know, we could…”

I ignite my saber and cut a neat circle in the top of the vent shaft. “Save it, trooper. We have to keep fighting.”

Ginia grabs my arm before I jump out of the vent. “You’re right, Master.”

“Those are new words for you.”

“We have to keep fighting for those who cannot! I’m going back down, and I know these men are coming with me.”

Four blaster cock, and four helmets look straight at me. 

I furrow my brow. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” I vault out of the vent shaft and steady myself on the roof of the dismal building, then close my eyes and concentrate. The Force radiates strength as I sweep the six members of Suicide Squadron out of the vent and onto the roof. I plant my feet over my entrance to the vent system and switch my wrist unit on.

“If you want to go back and die on Corellia, you’ll have to get through me.” It takes a minute, but a pink lightsaber switches off and four blasters are holstered. One green head droops.

“Redeemer, this is General Mace Windu. We need a pickup ASAP.”

“Copy that sir. Do you need additional transportation for the slaves?”

Ginia glares at me.

“Negative, trooper. One gunship will be adequate. Windu out.”

As if we weren’t already wet, Corellia decides to torture us with one last downpour before our return trip to Coruscant. Ginia’s hair sticks to her face as she stands motionless in the rain, saber hilt in one hand and a fist in the other. The four troopers’ shoulders droop as the rain batters down on their plastoid helmets. Bingo moves closer to Ginia, but she doesn’t react. 

Oonara’s reaction might be the saddest of all, though. I suspect that the burden of condemning others to a life of slavery seems a little realer to heryet she carries it well. She simply fiddles with her wrist unit as the gunship grows bigger in the dark Corellia sky.

The ship’s landing seems loud even in this pouring rain, and we look like seven drowned Loth-cats as we board the gunship. As we pull away from the rooftop, the pilot’s voice echoes over the ship’s comm unit.

“General Windu? Urgent news from the Order.”

I tighten my grip on the overhead handle and grit my teeth. “Permission to speak, trooper.”

“Master Yoda requests that you return to Coruscant immediately - the Temple’s been bombed by a mystery terrorist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am just a little gremlin who c annot write action...please do not hold this against me
> 
> But seriously, this is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'm actually really happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> Let's have some fun in the comments (at least for me) - Q & A time !! i wanna get to know you all and i want to share aspects of myself with u all


	10. Chapter 10 (Jedi Knight Ginia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginia Has A Series Of V.I.C (Very Important Conversations)

Breathe in.  
I was unable to rescue hundreds of slaves from a horrible future.

Breathe out.

Ahsoka has left the Order, and I feel all alone.

My small room seems extra empty as I try to quiet my mind and focus on my meditation. The Force, never really on my side in the first place, has all but turned against me in the past few weeks. First the promotion to “Jedi General,” then Dooku, then I got stuck with karking Master Windu on a mission to free slaves. Slaves that we didn’t even end up freeing.

Breathe in.

This war has whittled down my faith in the Order.

Breathe out.

Yet who am I, if I am not a Jedi?

Ahsoka left, one side of my mind tells me, and the Force hums around me in approval. Ahsoka left, and she left on her own terms. Yet Ahsoka has always been better than you, the other side of my mind reminds me. More powerful, more talented, more sure of herself. Ahsoka can make her way in the world without the Order.

I cannot.

I open my eyes, and the world seems lifeless and empty. Teaching the younglings has become a never-ending chore, not a joy; I’m swinging wildly between practicing saber drills with obsession and whiling away the hours admiring Ben’s collection of Loth-cat videos. Not that being a Jedi was ever lots of fun, but at least it used to be rewarding and engaging.

I jump up off the floor and head to the door. It’s time I talked to someone.

Master Ti opens her door after I only knock one time - it’s nice to be with someone so attuned to my presence.

“Ah, Ginia!” she says with her gentle smile. “I was wondering when you would come and visit me again.”

I bow my head in the traditional greeting. “My apologies, Master. I’ve been...distracted.” It’s sort of true. I’ve been distracted wallowing in the Force and working myself to death. She looks at me, hard, with her deep eyes, and opens the door wider.

“Come in, Padawan. You’re always welcome here, and I do believe the tea kettle is about to sing.” And right as I cross the threshold, my master’s beloved tea kettle, one of her only possessions, starts to whistle. It’s a comforting sound that takes me back to my days as her Padawan. Everything was simpler then.

The tea splashes as it’s poured, and Master Ti hands me one of the steaming cups. I breathe in the heavy steam and can’t help but smile - it’s one of the blends we used to drink together on Kamino during those long deployments to teach and train clones. It smells like home.

We sink down cross-legged on the floor, and Master Ti arranges her head-tails over her shoulder with precision.

“They - your, uh, you know - they remind me of Ahsoka,” I blurt out, then take a sip of tea to hide my red face.

Master Ti nods. “I know she was your friend. Padawan Tano’s choice to leave the Order is a bold move indeed, yet it is the Force’s will. We must trust in it.”

I run my finger around the rim of my cup. “Have you ever thought about leaving the Order?”

My master tilts her head and purses her lips. “While the thought crossed my head as a hot-headed Padawan, I cannot say that I’ve dwelled on that possibility recently. Padawan Tano’s choice casts our decisions in a new light, doesn’t it?”

I swallow the hot tea so I can get my next words out. “You? A hot-headed teenager?” I can’t see Master Ti as anything other than the poised woman she is now.

“Dear Ginia,” she says with a gentle laugh, “we can’t all be as refined and sure of ourselves as you are at this age.”

Yeah. Refined, sure of ourselves, confident. That’s me.

“Anyway, thanks for talking with me, Master. It’s given me...a lot to think about.”

Master Ti rises up off the floor and extends her hand to help me up. “I expect that I will get a grand-padawan soon? One of your little group of younglings could potentially become your first student.”

“I don’t know that I’m ready to have a padawan, especially in the middle of the war. Doesn’t seem like a great time to grow up.” My hand’s on the doorknob as Master Ti speaks.

“My dear Padawan, you grew up during the war. You did a lot of growing up during the war, yet you have done nothing but make me proud.”

I leave her quarters before she can see the tears well up in my eyes.

Senator Amidala’s office in the Senate building is a stark contrast to the simple spaces inside the Temple - I’m sinking so far into this couch that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get up again. 

“Caf, Ginia?” Senator Amidala asks from her desk. “Oonara’s taken quite a liking to it.”

“No thank you, Senator,” I say with a nod. “Actually, where is Oonara? I was hoping I could see her.”

The senator swipes through screens on her desk and magnifies a calendar. “Looks like Oonara’s taking time off right now - I think she’s at your barracks, if you want to go find her.”

I really don’t want to see the troopers right now, but I’ll go if I can talk to Oonara. “Thanks, Senator. Can I ask you a question before I go?”

She minimizes her screen and folds her hands on her desk. “Ask away, Ginia.”

“You’re, um,” I tilt my head as I try to figure out the best way to phrase my question. “You’re friends with some Jedi, right?”

Senator Amidala steeples her fingers. “I am indeed close with a few Jedi. Why do you ask?”

“Has the war affected them? Can you tell?”

The senator stands up from her desk and turns to the window, folding her hands behind her back. I can hear her sigh from across the room. “Many of the Jedi I know see this war as a means to an end, a way to bring the Republic back together.”

“Knight Skywalker seems to relish in the battle.”

She turns back to me, and her jaw is set. “Knight Skywalker recently lost his Padawan, and as such, his worldview has been thrown into chaos. While it is undeniable that Skywalker is talented in battle, this war has taken as much a toll on him than anyone else.”

“Yes, Senator, Ahsoka was a friend of mine.”

She sits down heavily. “And mine as well.”

I get up from the couch with some effort and fold my hands in my sleeves. “So, the war has gotten to even our most revered general?”

Senator Amidala peers at me over several fuzzy blue holopictures. Today’s work in the Senate, I guess. “Ginia, this war’s gotten to everyone.”

The trip across Coruscant to visit the barracks usually takes some time, but Commander Fox lets me tag along on today’s barracks inspection. The ride from the Senate building to the GAR military base is a bit bumpy, but it’s better than public transportation - I think I saw someone smoking death sticks last time I hitched a ride.

“Approaching the 403rd barracks now,” comes the pilot over the comm. “Disembarkation only sanctioned for members of the GAR.”

As I let go of the overhead handle, Commander Fox taps my shoulder. “You are a member of the GAR, right? I should have checked, but I’m actually feeling rather lax today. Whose Padawan commander are you?”

I smile nervously. “Oh, um, I’m not a Padawan. I’m actually the general whose troops live in these barracks.”

“Ah, sorry, sir,” Commander Fox backtracks. “Hadn’t seen you before. Bingo’s on this squadron, right? Good man, tell him I said hello.”

“Thank you for the ride, and I will.” I jump out of the gunship and land with my knees bent in front of my troopers’ barracks. I haven’t been here in a while - last time I came was around the time we went to 79’s. That seems so long ago.

The door opens with a creak as I step into the barren hallways, and I'm met with silence. I’m not sure where Oonara is, so I might as well check every room. She’s around here somewhere, I’m sure of it.

The mess is abandoned save for one trooper in pink armor. Salt’s buzzed head bends over a hologram projector as he concentrates, his food tray pushed to the side. My boots squeak on the tile, and he looks up. 

“General!” he says with a lazy salute. “Sorry, just running a simulation.”

I walk over and swing my legs onto the bench across from him. “Simulation?”

“Yeah, it’s just a little program Echo and the captain built. We played it back in the 501st, my batchmates and I. Of course, Echo’s gone now, and so are almost all my batchmates, but it brings back memories.”

The table’s surface is bumpy, and my elbows are chafing. “Salt, why do you play a war game if you’ve lost so many brothers to war?”

The hologram beeps red: GAME OVER. YOU LOST. Salt shuts it off and runs a hand over his head. “That’s a hard one, sir. I guess there's some comfort in playing at what I’ve done my whole life.”

“What you’ve done your whole life has taken everything from you.”

“What’s got your plastoid dented today, General? I enjoy my games, that’s all that matters.”

I heave myself back up from the bench. “I’ll go bother someone else. Nice to talk with you, Salt.”

“Always a pleasure, General.”

The bunk room’s filled with beds made so tightly that you could flip a credit on them. Of course, only a few of these beds are slept on; our squadron’s pretty small. Only five of us, six if you count Oonara.

She’s not in here, either. Guess I’ve got to keep looking.

One of the bunks in the back of the room creaks, and I peer around a bank of bunks to see a figure in blacks and pink plastoid sitting cross legged on his bed. Is Ben trying to...meditate?

I lean against the bunk in front of him and cross my arms. “Need some help, trooper?”

His eyes fly open and his ears turn red. “General! Wasn’t expecting to see you here. I was just...trying to do the meditation thing like you do.”

“Do you want someone to meditate with you?” I’m not taking no for an answer, so I kick off my boots and sit down on the bunk across from him. My legs fold in a secure, comfortable position, and Ben mirrors my movements.

His hands rest on his knees as he speaks. “I think I’m having trouble meditating. Maybe because I don’t have the Force?”

I scrunch my nose and tilt my head. “The Jedi Masters would tell you that the Force is all around us and in every one of us, so I guess that’s true. I guess it’s hard to feel a connection to the Force when you’ve never used it, though.”

Ben nods and closes his eyes. “The Force is all about power, and I don’t feel very powerful trying to meditate. I feel kind of stupid.”

I close my eyes with him. “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that the Force is all about inner peace and balance. Maybe that’s more attainable than power for you. I know it is for me.”

I breathe in, and he slows his breathing to match mine. Breathe in, breathe out. The Force is flowing all around me, and I hope he can feel even a fraction of the magical way I feel right now. I can almost feel all my anxiety, all my insecurity slipping away into the Force. Sometimes I forget how relaxing letting go of negative emotions is.

We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, feeling the Force and the peace it brings.

My eyelids start to rise, and I can see Ben from under my eyelashes. His eyes are still closed, his breathing is deep, so hopefully he’s finding some measure of calm. I shift my weight a little on the bunk, and it creaks. His eyes open. 

“How did that feel?”

He leans back and plants his hands on the bed. “Really good. Well, a lot better than when I tried by myself.”

“Well, there’s a reason I’m a teacher.”

“You teach?”

I nod my head slowly. “Yes, I teach younglings back at the Temple. At least, I did before I became a general.”

“You’re a good teacher - it makes sense. Thanks for helping me with meditation.”

“I’ll be glad to switch from general to teacher anytime.”

The training room is deserted - I doubt that Oonara would be in there anyway - and I honestly don’t know where else to check. The 403rd’s barracks are pretty small.

The halls feel extra empty as I walk back towards the entrance - having a small squadron is great until you can barely find even one person, nevertheless the person you want to talk to. I’m just about to go wander around the GAR base and bother Commander Fox for a ride back to the center of Coruscant when I sense something about to go terribly wrong.

I duck around the nearest corner and throw out my hand, concentrating on keeping what I sense to be a durasteel crate from hitting the floor. I close my eyes, lowering the box to the floor, and when I open my eyes again I see a sheepish trooper and a Rodian. 

Finally, I found Oonara. Find one Rodian, get one Bookish free.

I lower my hand and nod at the box. “What’s in here?”

Bookish rubs the back of his head. “Ah, I’m actually not sure. We, uh, weren’t using it.”

“Yes, we were just sitting having a chat!” Oonara gestures to the other boxes that were already on the floor. The dust hasn’t been disturbed on the tops of those boxes; it’s an obvious lie if there ever was one.

I sit down heavily on the crate and rest my chin on my hands. “You know, honesty is one of the pillars of the Jedi religion.”

Bookish looks unimpressed. “We’re not Jedi.”

“Just tell me what you’re doing.”

There’s a tense silence, and then Oonara cracks first. “Pardon us, General-”

“-it’s Ginia-”

“But we’re hiding from Commander Fox.”

Well, that’s an unexpected answer. “Commander Fox? He’s not even checking our barracks today. And even so, you wanted to hide in a dusty old alcove?”

“His ship was outside!” Bookish answers defiantly.

“He gave me a ride here! And you’re avoiding the question, trooper. Why do you even feel like you need to hide from Commander Fox?”

Bookish sighs and rubs his eyes. “Get off the crate.”

As I get up off the crate - huh, there wasn’t any dust on this crate - Oonara pops the latch and pulls out the most cobbled-together piece of tech I’ve ever seen. There’s blinking red lights, wires, beeps, the whole nine klicks. 

I stare down Bookish with a raised eyebrow. “Commander Fox is going to court-martial you for this?”

“Okay, well, first of all, it’s technically not against the regs to do this, but-”

“I built it,” Oonara cuts in. “It’s tracking the location of the crates that we suspect are carrying slaves away from Corellia.”

I wish the crate still had a lid so I could sit down on it. Breathe in, breathe out.

“You have a mark on the location of the slaves? The slaves I couldn’t save?”

Bookish nods slowly. “The slaves we couldn’t save, and yes, those very slaves. And yes, what we’re considering doing is against regs.”

This junky piece of tech looks more magical by the click. “You mean…”

“We could go and try to give the slaves the better life they deserve?” Oonara clarifies. “Yes, that is what we mean. If...if Bookish will agree to my plan.”

Kriff Oonara’s plan, we need to get going now. I walk around the device in her hands, itching to poke a button or follow a blinking light. “Where are they? How soon can we leave.”

Oonara peers at a flash of red light. “The reading in hyperspace isn’t very accurate, but I’m pretty sure the crates are on their way to-”

“-Kadavo.” Bingo says flatly. “They’re going to Kadavo.”

I look at him sideways. “Something wrong with Kadavo?”

“That’s the place that almost broke down General Kenobi himself. If we’re caught, we’re dead men.”

“And women!” Oonara adds with indignation.

“We’re dead!” Bookish barks. “We’re done for if we get caught trying to free the slaves, and we’re done for if we do somehow manage to free them. Well, not all of you - Bingo, Salt, Ben and I will be done for. It’s against regs to disobey direct orders from a Jedi General. We’ll be court-martialed for that.”

“I’m a Jedi General! I can just order you to free the slaves once we get to Kadavo.”

“Yes, but I think that General Windu outranks you. By a lot. And he definitely told us to give up on those slaves.”

“I’m not giving up on them!” My fingers are digging into my hips as I can feel the Force simmer around me, and I know I’m going to have bruises tomorrow.

“Neither am I.” Oonara places a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you all not listening to me? We will die.” Bookish jabs a finger at me. “Either we all die going to rescue those slaves, or your troopers - your friends - are executed after we return from this unapproved mission. Take your pick, General.” He spits the last word. 

The tensions finally boil over, and my shoulders droop as my hands drop to my sides. The Force has lost all its emotion; it just feels flat and heavy. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Do you honestly think that I don’t want to rescue those slaves?” Bookish asks. “I do, I just have a bit more common sense than you.”

“I have common sense!”

“Not when people you love are involved.”

I fold my hands into the sleeves of my cloak. “I’m a Jedi. I can’t love.”

The room is quiet for a moment. Oonara sets the device down on the crate with a careful hand.

I look down at it, in all its blinking and beeping glory, and a cool rush of anger surges through the Force around me. “Stand back.”

I reach into my robes and pull out my lightsaber. The hated object, the object I will never learn to use properly, the object that marks me as a Jedi. I spin the saber in my hand a couple times with some effort and then watch the blade buzz out. That pink glow, beautiful but deadly, washes over our dusty alcove.

One slash and the device lays in two misshapen pieces on the floor. My cutting is crooked; what kind of a Jedi can’t even cut something in two? Breathe in, breathe out. I switch off my saber and stow it back in my robes, hoping for a distraction to break the awkward silence. 

“Ginia, what brought you to the barracks in the first place?” Oonara asks gently.

I look at her, hard. There’s some anger from me breaking her creation, and there’s some lingering fear from the lightsaber - I remember that that’s how she came into my life in the first place. Cutting that device, I probably looked just like Count Dooku as he sliced her open. As I reflect on Oonara’s emotions, I’m struck by the overwhelming sense of worry. Worry for the slaves?

No, worry for me.

I take a deep breath. “I just wanted to check in on you all. No apparent reason. None at all. Good day, Bookish.” I fold my hands back in my sleeves and breathe out.

“Where are you off to now?” Oonara presses further. She has so many questions.

I tilt my head and scrunch my nose, and the answer comes to me, plain and simple. “Going to find Bingo,” I yell back as I yank my hands out of my sleeves and take off running down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um yes I forgot to post on Friday :/it's really sad actually because I have two chapters ready to go I just forgot to post :(
> 
> anyway let me know what you think of this chapter !! very anxious to know what you all think


	11. Chapter 11 (CT-8160, Bingo)

The GAR base is pretty big, but it’s not big enough to hide me from Commander Fox. By some twist of fate - Ginia would say it’s the Force - I still manage to run into him. 

I snap into a salute, and he crosses his arms. “Good day, Bingo. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yes sir, nice to see you again, too. Inspections?”

He sighs, and I remember just how taxing being a grunt on the Coruscant Guard was; I can’t imagine being the commander. “Routine inspections, as always.”

“Yes sir. Well, um,-” the lens in my helmet blinks blue with an incoming call, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Anything to get me away from this awkward conversation. “Well, sir, I’ve got a comm call, so we’ll have to talk another time. Good day.”

He nods a goodbye and turns into the 212th barracks. I have no doubt that they’ll get top marks on this inspection.

A flick through the display with my eyes and the incoming call is accepted. A second later, Ginia’s jogging form appears in my helmet. I blink a couple of times in surprise as the call connects.

“General! Ah, long time no see. Everything all right?”

Her breath comes short as she runs. “Um, yes. Please call me Ginia. And everything’s all right.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah.” She pauses to catch her breath, and her form bends over with her hands on her knees. Both ends of the call are silent save for Ginia’s huffing. She straightens back up and there’s new audio coming across the audio receivers.

“Actually, I was looking for you.”

Her request is a little out of the blue, given that we haven’t really acted like best friends in what seems like quite a long time. “I’m on base right now. If you’re at the Temple, it’ll be a long trip for you. I’ll see if I can catch a ride with Fox back to the center of the city.”

“Well, um, I’m actually on base right now too. Commander Fox gave me a ride here.”

“Come here to cut more holes in our ceiling?”

She sticks out her tongue to the comm unit. “Di’kut, that was one time. And all that practice paid off.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, you cut some phenomenal holes in that elevator ceiling. Completely worth your top-notch, Grade-A troopers getting rained on while they lie soundly in their barracks.”

“That was once!”

It’s really nice to banter with her like this - ever since 79’s, something’s been a little off about her. Couple that with the fact that our last mission was a disaster, and it makes sense that I haven’t heard from her in forever. It’s like she’s disappeared off the side of the planet.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, General. Anyway, if you’re looking for me, I’m outside the 212th barracks. Just follow the smell of perfection and you’ll find it.”

“Jealous much?” Her little blue figure (with a smile on its face) has started to walk again.

“You can’t deny that their battalion has an impeccable track record.” Maybe Ben should have stayed with them, and not been transferred over to our speeder wreck of a squadron.

The comm call suddenly disconnects just as my bucket starts to float upwards, and I just let it happen. Ginia’ll return the helmet - eventually.

“Give it back, General, it’s got to go back over my face.”

“Your face is fine. It’s easier to talk to you without the helmet, anyway.” I turn around as she walks up behind me, throwing my helmet up and catching it. What I wouldn’t give for Jedi reflexes.

I lunge for my bucket and she dodges my hands - but I’ve overshot and the duracrete is rushing up towards my line of sight. Ginia reaches out to catch me before I land flat on my ugly mug, pulling me back up as I dust off my plastoid.

“Come on, trooper, we’re going on an adventure.”

I cross my arms as she tucks my sunbonnet under her arm and fiddles with the lock on a speeder. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“I don’t know, I feel like going somewhere. And frankly, I thought you might like the distraction.”

“Ginia…”

She lets out a little cheer as she undoes the lock. “What?”

I take a deep breath. “I, ah, I don’t think that I’m the one that needs the distraction.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice is a little too cheerful, a little too fake. It doesn’t sound like the Ginia I know, and the Ginia I know would never propose a random adventure that involved semi-stealing a speeder from the GAR.

“You know what I mean.”

Her shoulders droop and her eyebrows turn up a little as she sits down heavily and props her chin on my helmet. “Everything is going wrong. And…”

“And?”  
“And it’s all my fault.”

I keep a blank face as I squat down and slide under the speeder. I’m no mechanic, but every clone in the GAR knows this little trick. A few pulls of the red wire, and-

“What are you doing?” Ginia’s pouty face pops into my field of vision above the speeder.

“Removing the tracker from this bike. You want an adventure, we’ll take an adventure.” I see the beginnings of a smile on her face as I swing myself up onto the bike behind her. “You drive.”

“Can you not drive any faster?” The traffic in upper Coruscant speeds past us as Ginia and I putter along five klicks below the speed limit.

“Hey, my master’s not exactly a speed demon! Not my fault her safe habits carried over to me. Anyway, we’re almost there.”

I’ve spent quite a lot of time running patrol around Coruscant, and I’m not recognizing this part of the city. “Care to tell me where we are?”

Ginia pushes the bike into a sudden death drop, and my stomach flies up into my bucket - which is thankfully back on my head. Neon lights flash past us as we fall. Raucous music pours out of the clubs and into my helmet’s audio receivers. “Ginia, you hate to drink - and we’re in the club district? Unless that’s another bad habit you’ve picked up…”

Ginia levels out the speeder, and her laugh echoes back to me. “No, I still have no taste for alcohol. And come on, I don’t think I’ve changed that much.”

The speeder makes a sharp turn into a well-lit alley. As Ginia pulls back on the throttle, the speeder screeches to a halt under a blinding streetlight. The world is spinning a little from that sudden drop, and as I sit on the speeder for a minute to catch my breath, I squint to make out the name of our destination.

“Dex’s Diner? Did I read that right?”

Ginia nods with a grin. “I’ve heard Master Kenobi talk about this place sometimes; he makes it sound good.”

I take a few unsteady steps off the bike. “General Kenobi comes to this hole in the wall? His fancy words’ll make anything sound high-class - ‘The Negotiator’ and all that.”

Ginia locks the bike, takes a few steps, and freezes. “We have approximately zero clicks before Anakin and Master Kenobi round the corner. Do you wanna leave?”

I give her the blankest stare I can manage. “Generals Skywalker and Kenobi? Here? We should go-”

“Good evening, Masters.” I’m glad I have a helmet to roll my eyes under as Ginia folds her hands into her sleeves. She bows her head deeply, and General Kenobi just waves his hand as he spots us. 

“Ginia, always every inch Master Ti’s padawan. It is nice, although surprising, to see you here. Anakin and I were just out for some supper, you see.”

Ginia nods again, and we both take in General Skywalker’s appearance. I’ve never seen a Jedi look so worn down, so...bedraggled. His robes are wrinkled, his hair’s a mess, and he has an unusual odor - maybe machine oil?

General Kenobi motions for Ginia to enter first, and I hurry after her as she climbs the steps to Dex’s Diner. “Between you and me, I think that General Skywalker needs a good wash.”

She pauses and turns back to me as the other generals sweep past us. “Oh Force,” she whispers as she raises her eyebrows, “you don’t know what happened to him.”

“Know what? Come on, you’ll have to give me more than that-” but she’s on the move again, walking serenely over to the two generals’ corner booth. I just follow behind her again - what else can I do?

Ginia slides into the booth beside General Skywalker and places her hand on his. “Ahsoka was a great friend to all of us, and her departure has placed a dark cloud over the Order. Please know that we all feel your pain.”

I make to slide into the booth beside General Kenobi, but my plastoid’s too bulky. I try to wedge myself in a couple of times, but I just make some lovely clacking noises with the side of the table. General Kenobi gives me a weary smile and waves his hand, and I fall into the booth as the table slides towards Ginia and General Skywalker.  
“Thank you, sir.” Kriff, this is so awkward. Dinner with the two heroes of the GAR.

“Anytime, trooper. What may I call you?” 

“Ah, my name’s Bingo, General Kenobi. Or, you can call me CT-8160, if you like.”

The general picks up his menu and strokes his beard. “Now why would I ever do that?”

We both glance up from our menus as General Skywalker slams his elbows down on the table and runs his fingers through his dirty hair. “You do not all feel my pain,” he hisses, and Ginia pulls her hand back with wide eyes.

General Kenobi looks at him with a measure of pity. “Anakin, while the loss of Ahsoka has been painful, you must move on, as I did with my master. Attachment is dangerous and will only lead to suffering.”

General Skywalker scoffs. “What’s more suffering?” He throws his hands up and leans back in his booth. “She’s gone.”

General Kenobi waves the waiter away and smiles gently. “There we go, Anakin. I’m proud of you for admitting that she has indeed left. That’s an excellent first step.”

Ginia looks across the table at me with wide eyes. I don’t really think that either of us expected to end up counseling a grieving Jedi Knight on this adventure, although I still don’t know who he’s grieving for. 

We sit in silence, only speaking a few words to order our meals. The few times that the silence is broken, it’s stilted conversation that fills its place.

“So, Ginia, I hear that you’ve been practicing your saber forms quite often?” General Kenobi asks as he sips his drink, and Ginia flushes.

“You hate saber forms,” I blurt out and immediately wish I hadn’t. General Skywalker lets out one loud laugh, and General Kenobi raises his eyebrows at me. Ginia’s glaring daggers.

“Of course I don’t hate saber forms,” she replies with a false giggle. “They’ve just, um, never been my strong suit. But yes, Master, I have been practicing. Quite often. Thank you for asking,” she finishes with a deep nod of her head.

We fall into silence once more.

Our food comes, and everyone digs in - everyone but General Skywalker. He just stares at his food, pulling one long strand of hair out of the joints of his mechanical hand. I have to say, that’s one downside that I never expected from a fake hand. 

“Anakin, I told you to wear your glove,” General Kenobi chides, and General Skywalker scowls. Ginia raises her eyebrows at me from across the table, and I press my lips together before I can smile. 

The three of us watch as General Skywalker throws his fork down and hunches his shoulders over his plate. “I’m not hungry. Obi-Wan, we should get back to the Temple.”

There’s silence, silence only met by Ginia responding.

“I think I might understand how you feel.”

General Skywalker only glares at Ginia from under his eyebrows. 

“I think that we can all agree that the Order has its flaws. I mean, that’s obviously why Ahsoka left. It’s hard to agree with her choice, especially when her choice only hurts you, but I think she chose wisely. She walked away from an Order that had failed her when she needed it most. And that's, um... that’s really brave.”

General Skywalker’s silent.

“And Anakin, who do you think taught her that bravery?”

General Kenobi and I watch as General Skywalker sits up straighter, and a tear falls onto his plate. “She left me.”

Ginia places her hand on his. “By no fault of your own, if that makes you feel any better.”

“How could she walk away from her entire life?”

Ginia’s hand tenses upon General Skywalker’s. “If her life caused her that much pain, then perhaps she made the right choice. Master Ti says that we need to trust in the Force about Ahsoka’s decision.”

He turns to look at Ginia through bleary eyes. “Kark the Force.”

“Anakin,” General Kenobi interjects, but Ginia just smiles. 

“It’s okay to kark the Force a little bit, I think. It seems that all the Force does for us is cause pain and suffering, doesn’t it?”

Anakin sits up straighter and grabs his fork, shoveling food into his mouth suddenly. “I need to leave, I need to go find her, I need to-”

“And what?” Ginia says, pulling his fork hand back to the table. “Slow down, Anakin. Are you going to bring her back? I don’t think she’d want that. Even if you can’t trust in the Force, trust in Ahsoka.”

General Kenobi strokes his beard. “Ginia, perhaps advising Anakin not to trust in the Force isn’t the best course of action…”

Ginia lets out a barking laugh. “The Force has let me down so many times during this war, I’m about ready to give up on it.”

We fall silent again. The only sound is the sound of forks against plates.

Ginia finishes her meal first and stands up in the booth. “Bingo, let’s go. We have a whole adventure ahead of us tonight.” She scrunches her nose in concentration - I missed that look - and executes a flawless front flip off of the booth seat, landing on Dex’s dirty floor. I slam my bucket back over my red face as General Kenobi looks on in bemusement.

“Well, it seems that another Jedi has picked up on Anakin’s flair for the dramatic. I wish you all the best of luck, wherever your adventure takes you. And Ginia-”

She pauses on her way out the door, and I almost walk into her.

“May the Force be with you,” General Kenobi adds.

Ginia looks at him, looks at General Skywalker, looks at me. “Have a good evening, Master Kenobi. I’ll see you at the Temple later, I suppose.” She nods her head, but her sleeves stay firmly at her sides.

She turns to me and grins. “Come on, Bingo. A Coruscant night awaits.” With a dramatic sweep of her arms, we’re out the door.

Bingo and Ginia’s Great Coruscant Adventure doesn’t start as strong as we expected, mostly because Ginia’s become accustomed to turning in at sunset with her younglings. We’re only able to grab some fried nuna legs and pet the Loth-cats in the local pet shop before she’s yawning.

She throws her leg over the speeder and sits down heavily, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of her robe. “Think we should turn in for the night?”

I wipe my greasy fingers on the corner of her robe - I’d never had fried nuna legs before, and they’re pretty messy. “Are you kidding me? The sun just set a couple clicks ago. We’ve got all night ahead of us.”

“Are you wiping your fingers on my robe?”

“...No?”

Ginia yanks her robe out of my hands and fidgets with the handles on the speeder. “Fine, you win; we’ll stay out. Got any ideas where to go next?”

I sit down behind her backwards on the speeder and lean my back against hers. “I only saw Coruscant from the eyes of a guard. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I haven’t exactly had time to play tourist in my own city.”

Ginia leans back against me. “I would take you to the Temple, but, well, non-Jedi aren’t allowed inside. Sorry about that.”

“Is it nice to look at?”

“It’s beautiful, I guess,” Ginia says - I can’t see, but I bet she’s tilting her head as she talks. “The Room of a Thousand Fountains is pretty impressive, but for me, the Temple’s mostly just home.”

“Are there really a thousand fountains?”

“I’ve never counted,” Ginia admits. The alley’s quiet except for the occasional mewing from a Loth-cat in the pet shop.

“Ah, Ginia?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got an idea about where to go next. Can I drive?”

“Sure, I guess. Just promise not to drive too fast.”

It’s probably a good thing that I don’t keep that promise - Ginia could use a little excitement in her life. I’m pretty sure that Jedi don’t typically spend their nights hanging onto a trooper for dear life as he drives with reckless abandon across the skies of Coruscant.

All right, that sentence wasn’t quite true. Ginia’s screeching as I push the throttle open even harder - forgot that very important detail.

“Can you shut up?”

“Can you drive slower?”

My destination is in sight as I close the throttle and begin a slow descent. The smells and sounds of Coruscant nightlife almost disappear as we speed away from the Club District and into the Senate District. Ginia’s arms tighten around my chestplate as we sink towards the building I have in mind.

Ginia’s uncharacteristically silent as I pull back on the bike’s brake and scrape along the roof of the Senate building, spraying sparks along our path. The bike grinds to a halt, and Ginia lurches forwards into me. 

“Sorry. Inertia. Are we on the roof of the Senate building?” She hops off the bike and steps onto our durasteel floor. “I never imagined that it was this big.”

“Seems to go on forever, doesn’t it? Anyway, ah, look over...there.”

I stand a little behind her and rotate her shoulders until she’s staring back at where we just came from. The smile on her face is huge as she takes in the thumping bass flashing lights apparent on the horizon.

“The Club District looks a lot prettier from up here than it does down there,” she wonders, and her eyes get wider. I watch her with caution as she takes off her cloak and floats it onto the roof. “Come on,” she gestures. “Sit down.”

She flops down onto her cloak and pats the space beside her, and what can I do but sit down? My plastoid creaks as I struggle to sit down, and Ginia just laughs. She leans back on her elbows. We’re peaceful for about two clicks before Ginia jumps up.

“I have an idea.”

I pull off my helmet so she can see my withering look in all its glory. “Di’kut, we just sat down here. Can we maybe take a break for a little bit?”

“First of all, maybe if you hadn’t driven that bike so fast, maybe you wouldn’t be tired-”

“-That doesn’t even make sense-”

“-And second of all, let’s dance.”

My eyes widen in surprise, and I watch her arms cross and her smile falter as she processes my shock.

“I mean, it was just an idea, it’s fine if you don’t want to-”

“No,” I say as I heave myself up off her robe. “No, let’s dance.”

Her eyes brighten again as I dust myself off. “Well, I don’t really know how to dance, but…”

I hold my hand out with a smile. “You know that I don’t know how to dance either,” I add, and she takes my hand with some hesitation. I pull her in a little closer and realize that I don’t know where my other hand goes.

“Ah, should I-”

“-No, put it here, yes, like that-”

I’m sure that Ginia has to be enjoying me embarrass myself, but my hand ends up resting on her wide belt, and everything is all right. The vague thumping bass from the Club District is the only music we have to dance by as we spin slowly on the roof of the kriffing Senate Building.

If Fox knew, he would slap me upside the bucket.

“It’s a good thing that Fox doesn’t know, then.” 

I blink. “You know, it’s really creepy that you can read my mind.”

Her hand squeezes mine. “Please, most Jedi can’t read minds. I only took a lucky guess.”

We stay this way, enjoying the bright lights and music wafting in from far away, hand in hand, swaying on top of government property. This is more like the adventure that I was hoping for.

Ginia pulls her hand out of mine to stifle a yawn. It is getting kind of late, and I should be heading back to the 403rd’s hole-y barracks soon. I pull my other hand out of hers and collapse onto her cloak, smiling as she flops down next to me.

“Did this adventure live up to your expectations, trooper?”

“Hey, I’m the one who pulled the tracker off the bike, General. I think that you can thank me for this little excursion.”

She throws her arms out to the side, and one thuds on my chestplate. “I could stay here forever,” she says with enthusiasm, and her words run together a bit - probably because she’s tired.

“Ginia, you’ve got to go back to being a Jedi tomorrow,” I remind her. 

She tucks her arms back in and folds the cloak around herself. “Kriff the Jedi,” she mumbles. “Bingo, when we grow up…”

“...We are grown up, Ginia.”

“When we grow up, let’s buy one of those Loth-cats.” She shivers a little as the night breeze flows across the Senate’s dome.

I sigh and prop her head in the crook between my arm and my chestplate. “What color?”

I look down, waiting for an answer, but she’s fallen asleep. Jedi are so strange. Oh well, I think as I watch the neon lights across the Club District shut off one by one, I might as well get some sleep too. I prop my head up on my other arm and close my eyes, trying to tune out the hustle and bustle of Coruscanti life. 

Next morning, I’m rudely woken by a hard slap across my face. I breathe out heavily and open my eyes, not at all surprised with what I see. 

“Good morning, Commander. Good to see you this morning, sir.”

He extends a hand to help me up and hands me my bucket. “Good to see you too, CT-8160. If you were still on my team-”

“-I’d be on cleaning duty, yes sir. I guess it’s a good thing that I’m no longer on your squad…?”

I can’t see his face underneath his helmet, but his silence doesn’t bode well. “Wake the general up and get back to your barracks. I don’t want to see either of you doing anything but working your shebs off for the GAR until next week, understand, trooper?”

I sit up and snap to a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I forgot to upload the chapter last night...it's even sadder when I remember that I've had this ready for two weeks...
> 
> I am very upset that we never got to see Anakin mourn Ahsoka leaving in canon, so here it is - I like to think that he would be absolutely heartbroken.
> 
> Also, I suppose that by including Ahsoka leaving in this fic, I'm solidifying the timeline. that's always nice.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, I wanted a nice clean, well-written OC story, so I wrote one. if you know of one similar, send it my way
> 
> thanks for reading !! i hope that you enjoyed this chapter - if so, maybe leave some kudos or a comment ? constructive criticism or encouragement is always welcome. see you again next chapter !! :)


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